


Bad Guy

by Princess_Booplesnoot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming of Age, Crack Treated Seriously, Diary/Journal, Don't Examine This Too Closely, F/M, Fanon Snape, Lucid Dreaming, Lucius Malfoy thinks with his dick, Muggle Culture, Potions Accident, Self-Indulgent, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29938824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Booplesnoot/pseuds/Princess_Booplesnoot
Summary: A coming-of-age diary of a muggleborn witch. Alice's sixth year begins with a potions mishap that will change her whole life - and even if she had considered herself to have gotten used to the weirdness of the wizarding world, not one textbook could have prepared her for what fates have in store. Take a peek inside the sad, the funny and the unbelievable.Unfinished work. This was written about five years ago and I do not know if the second part will come out at all. First person POV, diary-like novel. This is crack treated seriously.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	Bad Guy

The bastards who did this to me were going to pay. I will find them, I will take one look at them and they will spontaneously ignite. I will annihilate them!

Not the normal train of thought for me, eh? I prefer to stay away from drama. I don’t get upset at Weasley twins, I think the attention just pushes them to do more and more crazy shit. Truly, I simply wish to be left alone. Thankfully, the Slytherins and us Ravenclaws have a sort of truce and we don’t bother each other. I suppose, behind every half-way decent politician stands a horde of paper-pushers.

Being a Ravenclaw is prestigious and inspiring only on paper. The House founder might have been a woman of great intelligence and wit, alas, nowadays it’s mostly kids who study what they should learn. What good does it bring to know that there are 12 uses for dragon blood if you don’t know the correct way and circumstances in which it should be used?

Most of my classmates are dull. Dull and self-absorbed, so the harlot who poisoned me with this vile concoction has a probability of 89% that their House isn’t the same as my own. My foster dad of ten years is a computer programmer. I know my math, I’m good with numbers.

It’s probably somebody from Gryffindor but not the Terror Twins, even though they could be the suppliers. Ginger 1 and Ginger 2 lost interest in pranking me rather quickly as I would walk around with a poker face no matter what they did. That, and Snape didn’t withdraw points from me when I showed up to Potions with a glowing pumpkin pattern on my skin, that wouldn’t wash or Finite off, on Halloween, in my third year. He just sighed and palmed his face. Even wrote a note to Flitwick. I don’t know what it said but Gryffindor was suddenly missing like 50 points that same evening. There was a potion vial on my nightstand when I went to bed and I woke up blissfully pumpkin-free.

Ginger 1 and Ginger 2 cast speculative looks on me and Snape for like a week and left it alone. The Dungeon Bat was no match for them and neither was my Head of the House. I wonder if Snape ever realized how big of a favor he’d done me that day. After all, I just wanted to be left alone.

But back to the incident… I doubt the person who poisoned me was from Hufflepuff. They were mostly kind and respectful of my private space bubble. They gave me the least amount of shit without being absolutely, creepily absent (I’m looking at you, snakes). You ever seen a person with that “light’s on, nobody’s home” look? That’s what most Slytherins act like. Statues. Creepy. I always thought political figures were supposed to be charismatic… Krabbe and Goyle’s faces were anything but and Malfoy, Jr, was a total twit. I didn’t pay attention to girls, they were supposed be housewives, after all. Blergh. I’d die of boredom, I hate kids and doing the dishes.

I keep getting distracted. I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise the Sorting Hat was in a limbo between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw when it came to me. I’m a mudblood, so Slytherin wasn’t my cuppa tea, and Gryffindor’s red-gold-and-magenta color scheme felt like someone poured bleach on my eyeballs. Even as an eleven year old, I liked my solitude.

The kids at muggle school kind of avoided me because I had the misfortune of developing early and I suppose the appreciative looks of older students made my classmates uncomfortable. Or maybe it was my magic. I heard from other muggleborns that I wasn’t the only one with bullying problems. Are we really that different from muggles if their offspring avoids us and gangs upon us like animals, just like the pureblood gang up against ?

I wasn’t going to stay in the Wizarding World and I couldn’t wait to graduate Hogwarts. Don’t misunderstand me, the castle has it’s a charm and a very unique atmosphere. I just didn’t belong-belong here. I belonged at home, on my computer, with my foster dad teaching me it’s merits.

In all honesty, I wanted to be a psychotherapist when I grew up. Watching people from an analytical point of view was somewhat of a hobby for me. I got monthly book satchels on the topic from my foster mother. I’ve read Freud and Jung and other, more recent authors. I’ve tried a few tactics with my fellow peers. I found out things I wish they would have kept to themselves.

C’mon Sherlock, back on topic! The person who gave me this poison had to sneak it, either into my dinner or into my snack pile. It’s more likely that they enlisted a house elf to help, which is curious in itself, as they had to convince the elf they weren’t doing me any harm… Or it was their personal elf. I doubted it was someone younger than me but it was a possibility. The potion given to me wasn’t illegal and I recognized it in a few days time. It was, however, pretty difficult to brew and required two ingredients that were on the upper scale of the bill.

Due to the very specific nature of the potion, it may have been a simple mistake. Somebody wanted to look deeper into themselves and take a peek at their subconscious, I would guess? It’s not unheard of, especially in the pre-graduation crisis.

I have seen manic seventh years ever since I started Hogwarts: every year after Valentine’s day, a horde of crazed teenagers occupied every flat surface in the library and chugged Baruffio’s and Invigorating draught by the gallon. Madam Pince even kept a stack of Besoars in her desk. The student spent two days in the infirmary and was back at the library again.

The worst part of it for me, that the cure for my poison cost a fortune. That was the trick with it and why it wasn’t widely used - the longevity of it was unpredictable, it was un-neutralisable by generic means and the antidote cost exactly fifty-three times the price of the potion itself. So if someone wanted to prank a muggleborn foster kid, they choose perfectly, much to my dismay. I had to admit, the prankster had quite the imagination.

And so did I. It was extremely uncomfortable for me to understand the depth of my daddy issues. I read that every single teenage girl goes through a phase of liking and fancying older men and I thought I was prepared for it. Wouldn’t have been the first time I rationalized myself out of acting stupid.

The self-reflection potion worked with the subconscious through dreams. At night, the person who took it was shown images and scenarios that was supposed to help them understand themselves better, their needs, their desires, the causes of their actions. I thought I knew myself pretty well… At least for a seventeen year old.

Turned out, I underestimated the power of denial.

At first, my dreams were innocent in nature. A faceless, large male figure talking to me in a calm deep voice, asking about my day, about my success at school. Nothing unlike Thomas, my foster dad, would do when I came home. I liked those dreams. I felt safe, loved. Who wouldn’t like that?

In a week’s time I found myself and the faceless figure sharing my deepest secrets, the feelings and wants I wouldn’t probably even admit to my best friend (if I had one). I should have raised alarm bells. I never felt lonely… But I guess I was. I filed a “make friends” note in my head and started looking for somebody who I wouldn’t fall asleep during conversation with. It’s harder than it seems!

One night it was really cold in my room. I cast a warming charm on my blankets before I went to sleep and it must’ve evaporated during the night because in the dream, I was absolutely freezing. Whatever came over dream-me, I have no clue to this day, but I straight up crawled into the Father Figure’s lap and made myself very comfortable right on top of him.

It all went downhill from there. Tumbling. I zoned out during Transfiguration next day and got detention with McGonagall but the hag had some business to attend to and I got passed off to Snape. I didn’t mind that, I almost never got to scrub cauldrons - my potion skills were deemed adequate enough so I sorted ingredients instead. Some nitwit packed dragon scales and bat nail powder to be right on top of each other and of course, with my luck that day the powder bag burst the moment I turned away to sort a pile of scales by shape and size.

I was sneezing, coughing and babbling nonsense almost a moment before Snape even raised his head. He screeched something untintelligible, cast a Bubble-Head charm on himself and set to get the powder out of my sputtering self. I had taken one look at his face and told myself, loudly, that this is just not my day, it will pass, I will wake up and feel better. He seemed amused. Didn’t even insult me, just made me replace the ruined ingredients and even taught me a charm that expels all foreign objects from a person’s airways.

I should’ve known. Next dream I had, I wasn’t lounging on top of the anonymous Father Figure. It was professor Severus Snape who acted as a me-warmer. It was his voice that spoke of worry and inquired about my feelings. I might have cried a little. We hugged. He smelled nice, like cheap lavender laundry soap and fresh herbs. It was embarrassing. I woke up with the weirdest cognitive dissonance and it only multiplied tenfold during Potions class.

He probably noticed me staring at him weird but didn’t say anything. I often get told I have a lifeless look in my eyes sometimes, when I’m deep in thought, and it unsettles people. I haven’t got a clue as to why, my eyes are quite plain hazel.

I idly wondered what Snape actually smelled like. He didn’t exactly look pleasant, if you know what I mean, and even though I knew he used a special gel on his hair to protect it from all kinds of nasty fumes, the greasy gloss didn’t add him any charm. It was the first time I looked at him as a human being, as a man - to me, he wasn’t ugly or ‘gross’ as my classmates said, he looked sickly, overworked and unkempt.

In short, he looked depressed. Probably could use quite a bit more food and fresh air. Vitamins or some shit. A beer with his mates once in a few weekends. Normal grown up stuff, you know? Not being holed up in his dungeons, creeping over cauldrons 24/7.

I knew he was in Slytherin so he didn’t get the “I’m a crazy genius” excuse that my House mates regularly exercised when forcibly dragged to Madam Pomfrey for nutrient potions and a lecture on importance of healthy lifestyle.

I guess that’s what growing up feels like? When adults aren’t mysterious, faultless figures anymore, when they become people with feelings of their own, as valid as mine or my peers’. I’ve read all about it but I didn’t realize it, I suppose. They say human brain matures until the age of 25, so I still had a ways to go.

I studied every teacher like that. I might have been wrong about some things… But mostly the teachers seemed that they were pretty lonely people. Flitwick was a manchild. He wasn’t very responsible for an adult but very, very adventurous. Sinistra was an old maiden that threw lusty looks at seventh year boys when she thought nobody was looking. Kettleburn was too preoccupied with animals to have any resemblance of a social life and it didn’t look like he wanted one anyway. McGonagall had a very skewed sense of fairness and a horrible, horrible temper that reeked of self-rightseousness, like she was fighting for her very existence with anybody and everybody.

Professor Sprout was like a little ray of sunshine, always happy, smiling, homely, I suppose she could be a lovely grandmother. Even though she seemed a bit of an air-head. Everybody knew she had a husband living somewhere near Hogsmeade and it seemed like I was the only one who noticed she never visited him, choosing to stay in the castle and take care of her plants.

Considering all that, I felt pretty good about myself. I didn’t miss anyone, I didn’t need anyone like that.

Surprise came to me one day in the shape of a blushing sixth-year Hufflepuff boy who came up to me after a shared Rune class. He had made a water lily out of parchment paper and stuttered all throughout his invitation to Hogsmeade, finally shoving it into my hands and running away. He even knew my name, which in itself was a surprise. I desperately tried to not laugh when I yelled my agreement.

We ‘dated’ for three weeks, if we could call it like that. I had decided to give him an honest chance. Brandon was a painfully shy, tall boy with chestnut-brown hair and stormy blue eyes. His face still had some puppy fat which didn’t impact his handsomeness. We held hands, we cuddled in front of the frozen lake and ate lunch in Hogsmeade, away from the horrible noise of Madame Paddifoot’s cafe. I thought he wasn’t that bad, he, too, liked quiet.

Brandon kissed me in an alcove when we were going to supper and it was underwhelming… Too wet and too sloppy. I didn’t feel any of the pleasant butterflies I thought was supposed to feel. We practiced some more later, after I’d given him a mint candy (kudos to him, he took it with grace). I suppose it was a miss for him, too, because we broke up a few days after a heated make-out session during which our hands wandered a little more than they probably should have. I firmly believed in virginity being mostly a social construct and was neutral about parting with it, he was a pureblood wizard and according to him, a woman’s virginity is important in marriage because - rituals. I wisely choose to stay silent, wondering if all pureblood guys had a Madonna-whore complex, in the end deciding my conclusions were insufficient and I needed more research.

During another dream, I found myself asking Father Severus (that’s what I’d taken to call my dream-Snape, pun absolutely intended since he always wore his black robes with a white shirt underneath, looking like a god-damned demonic priest) why kissing Brandon was so… Icky. He answered with a logical question of “What were you expecting? He is a fumbling teenage boy, a child.” I definitely didn’t feel like a child anymore. Dream me asked Father Severus if kissing an adult man was any different and he snorted “Of course.” with such indignation, I felt like I had failed all his classes.

Have you ever watched yourself from the side whilst simoultaneously feeling everything you were doing at that moment? I assume not, as it would be a very peculiar situation to find yourself in because it probably would require at least one forbidden potion to achieve this state of mind outside of the dream world.

I froze in horror as dream-me tentatively touched her lips to Father Severus’ and mentally gasped when he started responding to the kiss. Once again, the smell, his smell enveloping me like a heavy woolen blanket, I turned into liquid putty despite my common sense screeching at me for the gross misconduct dream-me was partaking in. Dream-Snape was a spectacular kisser. His lips were warm and thin, and DRY, and moved languidly with mine, seemingly keeping up perfect pace. I felt the butterflies fluttering at the bottom of my stomach, flapping their wings wildly and making me squirm. The kiss went on and on and I woke up uncomfortable in my pajamas.

At least thirty minutes passed until I shook off my stupor and got out of bed. Whatever deity had bestowed this mishap of destiny upon me was merciful enough for that day to be potion-class-free.

The next couple of dreams stopped at that. Father Severus would ask dream-me about my day, we spoke about my dreams and everything, we truly spoke about everything. He was everything I didn’t realize I missed and nothing like he was in real life.

The real Professor Snape prowled in-between desks when we brewed potions in his class and stuck his large nose uncomfortably close to the simmering liquid in my cauldron, he insulted the intelligence of my classmates on a daily basis and sneered at Gryffindors in the hallways, he covered his dear Slytherins’ asses when the snakes were up to no good, he lurked during evening hours and brought terror to the snogging couples hiding in empty classes and alcoves all over the Hogwarts castle. He appeared as sickly and depressed as previously, bringing a vague sense of pity and annoyance everywhere he went.

I figured it would be a matter of time until my reality would get caught up with my dreams, or vice versa. I had no clue which was worse.

During a double Potions class we were each given an individual assignment. Choose a poison of minimum third level of difficulty and brew it. Seems easy, right? To me, potions were… If not exactly uncomplicated, then at least quite understandable. There were a bunch of compatibility and characteristics tables that needed memorizing, aside from that, it really came down to following instructions and using common sense. I got good marks in Snape’s class - like a little “fuck you” to every lazy ass pupil who’s ever said it’s impossible.

“Miss Wugg, you will be given a special assignment.” Snape’s monotonous voice sounded above my head as a heavy tome landed on my desk with a soft thud. The book was very worn and old, it’s cover had definitely seen better days. I politely put my palm on the book, indicating await for further instructions.

Professor never seemed to mind my silence. “Choose any draught from page 648 to 893. You are to brew the first stage today and will continue brewing it until the end of the month. I am aware you are familiar with the Stasis and the Advance Stasis charm and I expect you will use them properly. Succeed, and you will join the Advanced Potions class next semester. Fail, and you will automatically receive Troll for this semester. Am I clear?”

“Crystal, sir.” I couldn’t help the petulance that seeped into my voice. I was a naive child if I thought I was special enough for professor Snape to leave me alone, for him to at least be neutral towards my mousy persona. Apparently he didn’t discriminate and hated everybody equally.

The book was dusty and the recipes in it seemed outdated, and not that harmless either. “The Draught of Endless Despair”, “Exsiccare Caro”, and many more concoctions that had implications of Azkaban behind their names.

Seeking something less destructive, I stumbled upon a potion that promised to ward off your Fated Enemy. The page was worn and the text had faded significantly, instructions were in Old English and Latin. Carefully examining the recipe, I understood it would take me three weeks to brew it if I sacrifice in a couple of evenings in between classes.

I raised my hand to be given permission to speak. “Sir, may I also use the laboratory outside of class hours?”

“You may. Warn me thirty-six hours in advance.” Professor barely spared me a look, as if he was expecting this question already.

Nodding, I set up my workspace and gathered the ingredients for the potion. In this particular book, the ingredients required were all considerably common, the true difficulty lied in precisely following the instructions for storing, preparing them; timing played a very important role as well. I could feel the side-eyeing of my classmates every time I looked down.

First thing I did was write three possible translations for the recipe for later comparison to my interaction tables and set up the base of the potion: it was simple and widely-known, I knew it by heart without needing instructions. A clear blue liquid simmered for a few minutes before I removed it from the fire and poured it into a silver cauldron for it to oxidize for three days. With a wave of my wand, the Cauldron Protection charm surrounded my creation.

With an absentminded gesture, professor Snape directed me and my levitating cauldron to a large empty desk in the utmost left corner of the class. “This will become your new work space. I suggest you protect it from unwelcome visitors.”

Had moved all my things to the desk, I hastily scraped a few runes right on the lacquered wood of it. It was a foolproof method of protection against small mishaps and nosy peers though it wouldn’t do much against a professor or even a knowledgeable older student. I fed the runes with my blood when nobody was looking. That should give a boost.

Next few nights, I didn’t dream of kissing Father Severus anymore. Instead, we spoke about potions. I had been refreshing my memory with the tables of compatibility and interactions between ingredients and thus, I found out the likely-right translation in the recipe. My Latin was good but Old English was pure torture. I didn’t even dare to imagine what it was supposed to sound like.

I suppose I wasn’t surprised when dream-Snape’s knowledge of Potions turned out to be limited to my own. On the upside of it, his persona seemed to remember everything I’ve ever read, everything I’ve ever seen, exactly like muggle science thinks subconscious works - the least important things get stored there and we can’t access them unless we build a chain of events that will lead us to the necessary piece of information. So, in my dreams, I spoke potions with myself and after one particularly heated argument about replacing an ingredient with something that has been recently proved a more efficient substitute, I started writing down dream-Snape’s advice in a small notebook I kept in my bedside table.

To be honest, if a stranger would open it, the scribbles would look like the ramblings of a madman to them. Neither my handwriting nor my train of thought was a graceful affair first thing in the morning.

I came to the next lesson with my notebook, prepared. It was very muggle, fluffy covers and a big fat sparkly red heart right on the front. The person next to me gave me big eyes when I opened the notebook and went to the ingredients cellar with it. Fuck what they think, muggle notebooks and pencils are much more comfortable than quills and never-ending rolls of parchment - it’s not like I will turn in these notes. The next 80 minutes were full of me cutting, chopping, juicing and mixing various amounts of gross stuff. I honestly liked Potions, it’s just that I wasn’t as crazy about them to fully get past the “ew” factor when it came to slime and such.

Slime reminded me of Brandon’s kisses, which in turn made me a little bit nauseous.

A week went by with me placing and replacing the Stasis spell on my potion. It seemed to be coming along nicely, the color and consistency was up to par with the stage it was at, but the smell… The book didn’t say how it was supposed to smell. It was disgusting. Like rotten fish, rotten meat, if I closed my eyes, all I could see was an endlessly squirming mass of maggots. I cheated and owled my foster mom to send me menthol patches to apply under my nose - like they used in morgues - when I worked on the potion, which resulted in me having to constantly wipe my runny nose and watering eyes.

I was too immersed in the process to care about my attractiveness levels. In that particular situation, I cared way more about not blowing up. A few ingredients in the potion were explosive if mixed together improperly, and frankly speaking, I was astonished that professor seemed to be forgotten about me again. He prowled the classroom, as usual, but he never once stopped and stuck his nose into my cauldron; he acted as if I didn’t exist at all and I had to begrudgingly admit to myself (read: Father Severus) that I felt a little bit hurt.

The dreams now consisted of dream-me whining about feeling neglected and ‘practicing’ kissing once more, the kisses growing in heat day by day. I couldn’t ignore my drenched knickers in the mornings anymore and sought relief from my fingers, shamefully wishing they were HIS instead. Man, I was on my way to developing some really bad daddy issues if I continued that way, I thought after I had brought myself to the second peak of the day. It was a lazy Saturday and I allowed myself to skip breakfast choosing to lounge in my warm bed instead; the house elves usually left snacks on the common room tables as us Ravenclaws were infamous for skipping meals in favor of Science! I mean, Magic!

The books I had requested from my parents started wandering away from the scientific and into esoteric, I was obsessed with figuring out how to stop those god-damned dreams without the antidote. It all came to the fact that dreams are the subconscious way of telling us what we need, and I certainly didn’t have a grown ass man laying around to satisfy my teenage hormonal storms and put away my daddy issues on a shelf. So what’s a girl got to do?

Go to the Mediwitch, of course. I must not be the only one teenager that gets painfully distracted by own their growing body working against them.

“Oh dear,” the kind witch, Poppy Pomfrey, exclaimed when I explained her my situation (omitting the potion I’d been spiked with, of course). “It’s rare, but definitely not unheard of, usually the magic in you balances everything out so you can go about your daily things undisturbed.” If that was a polite way of saying I’m a weak witch, she succeeded brilliantly. I truly did not have a great talent in casting spells and curses, they did not glow or act as potent as some of my classmates’.

Madam Pomfrey gave me three potions with instructions to drink them before bedtime and I was let go. Underwhelming. Wizards have no sex-ed. It didn’t surprise me anymore that many witches became pregnant straight after graduation.

I had an evening session scheduled tomorrow, Sunday after dinner. My potion needed mixing and re-cauldroning, so I decided to take Pomfrey’s potion before going to bed in hopes of having an innocent, sex-free dream. I had to be alone with HIM in the lab. I couldn’t describe how uncomfortable the thought of it made me feel.

Nightmares plagued my sleep that night. I was running, running, running away from something I couldn’t see or hear; I was so terrified of the apparition that was following me and the sense of impeding doom followed my every step. I woke up panting with the sheets soaking in sweat and scratch marks on my face. Ten minute cold shower and a quick healing charm left me visually presentable while on the inside, it was as if I was still running from the terror. I didn’t eat breakfast and lunch, could barely swallow dinner.

“Come in.” Professor’s deep voice sounded when I knocked on his classroom’s door that evening.

I was strangely relieved to see him, no trace of awkwardness that I was so worried about. He may not be my Father Severus but the man behind the massive oak desk looked like him and I fought against the urge to hug and bury my face in his chest, to feel safe from the mysterious entity in my nightmare.

“What are you waiting for? Begin.” His stern tone took me out of my thoughts, disrupting the magic of the moment. I settled into a moderate pace, removing all charms and pouring the milky white liquid into a smaller brass cauldron. The actual amount of the liquid had shrunk by 1/3 as it was supposed to and it emanated a tiny amounts of wispy white smoke. For all the pretty look, it still reeked like shit. I put on my menthol patch with a displeased grunt. Some people drank that potion, ugh. No wonder it’s recipe is rotting away in some ancient tome nobody knows about.

I set a new cauldron to prepare a mixture of disgusting jungle bugs to add into the milky white liquid. Roast the insects, book, really? What kind of barbeque is this?

“What is this… Contraption… On your face?” Snape insinuatingly asked. If I squinted, he was baffled for sure.

“It’s a menthol patch.” During my years in his class I learned to keep my answers curt and say no less and no more than he required. I added a shrug for good measure at the end of my sentence.

“Explain.” I could hear the slow drum of his fingers on the wooden desk top.

“To keep this atrocious smell of rot at bay. It’s a muggle contraption, a sticky piece of gauze soaked in menthol essence. My foster mother works in a morgue and uses it there for particularly… Putrid corpses. They do not always come in fresh.” That was probably the single longest speech I’d ever given him. I thought I managed to articulate everything precisely.

Professor quirked an eyebrow before slowly striding over to my potion and carefully bringing his face to the contents of my cauldron. I pay respect where it’s due, he barely winced.

“I see.” He said, like that explained anything. Now it was my turn to lift an eyebrow, although my skills weren’t as expressive as his. I was willing to bet my whole scarf collection that a hundred years from now on, there is going to be a local legend about the language that his eyebrows speak. Two small patches of hair were altogether more expressive than his whole face. Huh.

He must’ve been in a good mood as my inquisitive look was indeed graced with an answer. “It is told that for people with no enemies, this potion smells of rotting flesh.” It made sense. I was a nobody, boring just enough to not cross over someone’s evil master plans.

“And what does it smell like for people who have them?” I couldn’t resist the obvious bait, fully prepared to scribble it down in my nefarious fluffy notebook.

“It smells of desperation and doom.” He answered, his voice quiet and sinister.

It was appropriately ominous and for a moment, I was taken back to the time when I was seven years old and hiding under the bed from my biological father’s belt. It bit worse than a snake. The smell of sandalwood and cured leather and dust enveloped my senses, lungs growing full of hot, mouldy air. I felt my skin break and burn and crawl where my biological mother put out her cigarettes in the crook of my arm, those scars long healed, but the implications behind them remaining as fresh as the day that was right now.

An abomination. Devil’s spawn. A mutant. A monster.

I decided then, I’m not taking any more of Madam Pomfrey’s potions. I wanted Father Severus back. I needed him. Dreams are only dreams, they’re mine, it isn’t inappropriate if nobody but me actually knows.

“Are you well, Miss Wugg?”

“I am. Thank you, Professor Snape.” His voice grounded me, gave me leverage against the memories. I was proud to say my voice almost didn’t shake.

The man truly didn’t know how many favors he’d done me. And it’s best it stayed that way, I was as sure as a rock. There should be at least one person who is grateful to the brazen, vicious wolf of a man that he was. A lone wolf, no less, couldn’t possibly accept gratitude so I would keep it to myself.

That night I finished rather quickly and left in a hurry, not giving a shit my escape was less than graceful. I wasn’t a Slytherin after all.

I couldn’t wait to fall asleep. And when I did, the monster in my dreams was yet again replaced by the pale, tall man that my subconscious choose to fixate on, the same man who’d yet again pretended to give a damn about me today. Who was I kidding, nobody gave a damn about me besides myself. I shamelessly bawled on Father Severus’ shoulder, clinging to him like a baby monkey clings to it’s creators.

“I will always be with you, silly girl.”

I knew that was true. Technically, I could learn to access my subconscious any time of the day, shape and mold it into something familiar and desirable, it wasn’t unheard of among wizards but it took years and years of hard work and self-discipline. Maybe by the time I learn that, I would become self-sufficient and wouldn’t need my Father Severus anymore.

I cried harder at the thought of living without him. How fast I’d grown attached to this… Entity, how much it didn’t bother me that I was making our and talking with a creation of my own mind… My common sense was constantly ringing alarm bells. It said I was withdrawing into the fantasy world. I was losing my mind.

My dream-self finally stopped ugly-bawling all over Father Severus’ pristine black robes. “Can we do the thing now?” Referring to the kissing practice that left me aching come sunrise.

“Do what, little girl?” He traced my chin with a fingertip, briefly ghosting it over my lips. I shuddered and closed my eyes, pressing my front against his chest. It was hard, wiry, muscular and not bony at all. Strange.

Dream-me had grown some bollocks apparently, as she pressed her lips against his-I pressed my lips against his- and got lost in the softness of our lips, the smells of rosemary, hyacinths, forget-me-nots and basil.

It kept getting curiouser and curiouser.

This time, I felt the heat of his body as he was pressed against me, I felt his hot tongue exploring my mouth with care and determination. It felt heavenly, I couldn’t resist a moan that went straight into the kiss and down to the bottom of my belly. I was aware I was dreaming and at the same time each sensation left a pulsating memory mark on my skin: the roughness of his heavy cotton robes sliding against my bare forearms and thighs, the blissful friction it provided against my knicker-clad center…

Fuck. I was wearing my school uniform in the dream, sans robes, dry humping my Potions professor.

I was done for.

Needless to say, I woke up with one of my pillows between my legs, the fabric stained with my juices. It was Monday. I dragged my feet to the Great Hall after a cold shower, preferring to eat breakfast before the hungry masses devoured the tastiest stuff on the table. Pancakes, yum! I was famished.

Not thinking about anything besides the large stack in front of me, I looked around only after I had massacred the pancakes in front of me. Dumbledore was positively beaming whereas Snape was frowning. A tall, regal blonde man sat to his left, his long, shiny hair reminded me of a movie I’d seen a while ago. On Snape’s right, between him and the headmaster sat a very tall, very pale man with pitch black hair and his eyes- wait a minute, his eyes were red. Holy fuck, his eyes were red!

I choked on my coffee. This was unexpected. Only one man was known for having “eyes the color of finely polished rubies” (Rita Skeeter should have been a writer of girl porn) and that was… You-Know-Who. But it was impossible. Why would Voldemort be acting hunky dory with Dumbledore by his side? And most importantly, WHAT was the old headmaster so damn happy about?

“I’m hallucinating. Would you mind taking me to the infirmary? I’m afraid I’m seeing things.” I babbled to the person closest to me, which appeared to be an older Ravenclaw, a boy that was more of a man already, if I’m being honest.

“You’re not. He’s professor Gaunt now.” I got an answer in a deadpan tone, then my housemate calmly went back to his book.

“He’s going to murder me. Oh Lord.” I panicked. I never panic.

“No, he took a vow on his life and magic to Hogwarts. He cannot harm us in any way.” The boy explained patiently.

I fought to calm down my frantic heartbeat. This was not how I planned to study. I wanted to graduate, to graduate muggle school, to go to university. I wanted to be a shrink, GOD-DAMMIT! Not a nameless mudblood left for dead in a ditch. I had escape plans in the case of war. I thought I had thought of everything.

I was probably still having side-effects from the potion Mediwitch gave me, all of this being a really long dumbass dream. That’s what it was. I pinched myself, “Ow!”. Right. I felt Snape’s hands and… Everything when I was dreaming. So I’ll just look at him? If he’s a part of me, he wouldn’t change, he’ll be a constant in the current of my subconscious.

I turned my upper body to hypnotize my Potions professor with my stare. I couldn’t focus on him as much as I would’ve liked, thoughts straying and scattering in my head. For the first time since I got my Hogwarts letter, I was uncertain about my future.

The blonde man next to him briefly leaned over to whisper something in Snape’s ear, the same moment all three men instantly looking at me. I swear I saw professor Snape shudder as he wiped his mouth and summoned an elf with parchment and a quill.

A small piece of paper appeared in front of me. Tentatively averting my face, I opened the fold - “You are free to use your workspace any weekday starting 7:30PM until 11PM. This note will let you stay past curfew, I expect you to use it and the classroom wisely.” - in small, sharp cursive. I swear, the “stop ogling me” implication was very clear in this note.

Neat, right? I may not be dreaming and Voldemort is now a teacher at my school but at least I get to finish my potion in peace. Yippee yay!.. That was sarcasm.

The blonde veela-looking man turned out to be Malfoy’s dad. I should’ve known, it was pretty obvious - silverine blonde hair, ridiculously expensive looking robes, gemstone jewelry, and the SNEER. Draco now seemed like a very watered down version of his own father, much less impressive - not that Malfoy Jr has ever paid me any attention, I’ve mostly seen him trying to harass Gryffindors in the hallways, what a pitiful sight. He himself should’ve been a Lion with that explosive temper of his.

His father could be an Ice King. I’ve never seen Lucius Malfoy as much as raise his voice in his lectures. He taught us proper etiquette and other pureblood shit, a mandatory lesson that was added the same day two new professors arrived at the castle. I thought it was a waste of time - because my foster parents educated me on all that when I, a street child, came to stay with them. Fish forks were the same in both worlds and appropriate greetings varied very little from the kind that muggles used in higher social circles.

I knew all that. I read “The Little Lady’s Handbook” when I was nine.

While my feelings towards the subject remained quite neutral, I couldn’t say that it’s teacher left me indifferent. He was a beautiful man, he developed a horde of fan girls three days after his arrival - it was so, so embarrassing, I choose to watch from afar, quietly.

My dream sessions with Father Severus remained relatively tame and I could feel myself craving more. A thought snuck into my brain one day: what if my dream-Snape couldn’t progress further simply because… I myself lacked the experience? I mean, I wasn’t absolutely clueless, I have had seen Thomas’s dirty mags and VHS tapes so technically, I knew what goes where and all that.

Another large concern for me was… What the hell did the wizards use for contraception? I didn’t want a baby, not after the first time I do the do, not ever. A watermelon sized thing coming out of my… THERE, screaming and yelling at night, making my boobs look like deflated beach balls? Thanks but no, thanks. A quick trip to Madam Pomfrey got me naught but a concerned question if I finished my three vials of liquid nightmares. “Yes, of course, I was just trying to be smart about my future”. I left her office disappointed but not surprised. The Wizarding World was quite archaic.

Library search yielded me exactly… Nada. Nothing. There were references to a potion that witches used to keep overeager sperm at bay but no actual name or recipe.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Professor Snape about birth control, it’s hard enough to have the real him AND the dream him laying on a single shelf in my head.

I suppose my brain found something safe, something I knew about, to focus on considering the fact that Voldemort was teaching us DADA. Murder sprees and world domination aside, I had to begrudgingly admit he was a great teacher with impeccable work ethic. Our past DADA teachers weren’t the most competent kind, except maybe professor Lupin a couple of years ago but that happiness was short lived as he turned out to be a werewolf. I always thought he smelled like wet dog, so no surprise for me there…

Professor Gaunt noticed me a little more than the rest of castle inhabitants did. My best guess was that I didn’t shake, startle or whisper obsceneties under my breath whilst in his vicinity. I had a sort of “armed neutrality” thing going on, I think - I was alert and awake during his classes, certainly never turned my back but also didn’t show my displeasure in any way. I’m going to make a fortune playing poker one day…

“Miss Wugg, stay behind, please.” Gaunt’s naturally loud, deep baritone reached my ears when I was packing my books away after DADA. I nodded, avoiding the sorrowful stares of my classmates around me. Did they think he was going to butcher and eat me for dinner? I’m bitter, he’ll choke.

Crossing my arms behind my back, I stood in front of his desk awaiting instructions.

“Who are you, miss Wugg? Who are your parents?” Professor Gaunt placed his chin on his fist, a faint hint of curiosity lacing his voice.

“I’m a mudblood. I live in foster care. My biological parents disowned me.” Less is more, just like with professor Snape. Unlike many others, I didn’t find the slur particularly offensive. I prefer to call a spade, a spade. My own voice sounded very even to myself and hopefully, to him too. Gaunt’s aura was heavy, suffocating and a little bit scary. The man was a Presence.

“Interesting.” He didn’t lost interest in me like I’d hoped: now his curiosity just showed more. “And you don’t find that word… Offensive?” Slytherins and their games were too much confusing for me. Life is much simpler, folks.

“I don’t care much for labels.”

Professor Gaunt hummed. I stood.

“What are your plans after graduation?” Now that was a pretty understandable question. As a sixth-year, I got asked that a lot.

“I will return to muggle world and do my best at getting into Harvard or Cambridge.” Tough chance, I’ll probably settle down into a small college somewhere in the country, but it’s worth a try, right? If I can get into a private university, the government will pay for at least half of my student loans because I am an orphan on paper. It would be stupid of me not to use that opportunity. I would have to take a year to get my muggle exams first but I was confident I would manage it.

Gaunt was shaking his head in disdain, obviously upset. I thought about hindsight and lying. I should’ve lied.

“Why do you choose muggles over the Wizarding World?” He finally managed to get out through gritted teeth.

I’m going down either way, I’ll at least go out with a bang… “I have no perspective future here as a muggleborn witch of average power. I’ve no desire to waste away behind pointless paperwork in the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, I’ve even less desire to marry a mediocre wizard and play house with two screaming brats.” After a moment, I added, “Sir.” OK, can I go Avada Kedavra myself now?

Surprising me to the point of my jaw hitting the floor, the wizard laughed. Don’t misunderstand, there was nothing cheerful or happy about his laugh, it was as dark and sinister as his own imposing persona. “And what is is that you want to occupy yourself with amongst the muggles?” He was surely, almost, definitely mocking me.

“I will become a psychotherapist.” You could definitely use one to help with all that sociopath shit, was what I had left behind.

“Interesting.” And again, Professor Gaunt had that cold, calculating look in his eyes. I felt like cattle, it was gross. A man like him probably sees everyone as tools to bid his will onto others. Chills seated themselves deeply at the bottom of my spine, chills that I tried to ignore. “You may go.” With a seemingly careless wave of his hand I was dismissed. The urge to slowly back away instead of leaving like a normal person persisted within me long after I left the door of his class behind.

Gaunt’s attention didn’t stop there, just as I thought. He paired me with purebloods in mock duels and I lost every time, it was inevitable. Like he was trying to humiliate me for standing up against his ideas for the world, putting my face over and over right into the fact that I was a magically weak witch. Despite my best efforts to ignore his narcissistic rage, it got to me and I was already preparing a neon thank you note to whomever spiked me with the potion at the beginning of the year.

I don’t think I could’ve held on if I had to exist without Father Severus within my dreams - he was always there with a kind, snarky word and hugs and kisses and- I wouldn’t break, I wouldn’t even bend to the will of the tyrant Gaunt. I just wanted to be left alone, I’m insignificant, I’m a nobody. If he’s You-Know-Who, I am Nobody-Knows-Who. I felt most comfortable being and staying that way.

My Potion was coming along nicely. I had spent a couple of spare evenings occupied with it, predicting it would be ready about a week early if I put in a bit more legwork in the evenings. Professor Snape was rarely seen in the classroom outside of study and detention hours and we’d crossed paths only once: he was grading papers when I came in to tweak the conservation settings on my cauldron. We blissfully ignored each other after being done with the necessary polite interactions.

The evening when I was supposed to add my last ingredients and leave the brew settle for twelve hours, the classroom was dark and empty. With a flick of my wand I set the lights to be dim and hung a separate Lumos ball above my workspace - I have always preferred desk lamps and this was the closest magical equivalent. The amount of magic it required was feeble and I could leave it hanging for days on end.

I was genuinely in a good mood. Whilst I enjoyed brewing this potion, it was getting bothersome to trot across the whole castle to get to the classroom on the evenings I could be reading my books instead. “Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell, Jimmy Rogers on victrola up hi-igh…” I had the bad habit of singing whenever I felt good and did stuff with my hands. Admittedly, I was no Cyndi O’lauper yet I liked to think my singing voice was at least decent and I wasn’t totally tone deaf.

“Black velvet and that little boy smile…” The love for Rock and other heavy music was grown in me by my foster dad. He was a cool dad, he had a red Cabrio that he took me and my foster mother driving in during the sunny days, always blasting Scorpions, Alanis Morrisette or some such. My happiest childhood memories were born in that car along with my general music taste.

Quiet noises went barely noticed by me as I focused on not cutting my own fingers with the chopping knife. The remaining ingredients of the plant category had to be cut very, very finely before I could add them to the potion.

“Up in Memphis the music’s like a heat wave, white lightnin’ bound to drive you wild…” The song was actually about Elvis Presley; I couldn’t call myself a fan by any chance… It’s the singer, the composition and her sultry voice that attracted me to her music. I had almost worn holes in her tapes. She could sing the weather for all I cared, her voice was magnetic. If I closed my eyes, I could almost smell the heavy heat of the American South despite never have been even close to that place…

I finished my song, continuing to him softly as I worked. As I put down the knife, sparse applause sounded from the other end of the room, startling me to the point of shrieking.

“Bravo, Miss Wugg. Who would have thought you are the owner of such a beautiful voice.” Professor Gaunt stood leaning against Professor Snape’s desk, it’s wooden seat occupied by the owner. Both of them looked content to have heard my free concert. “Isn’t it right, Severus?”

“Umm, thanks I guess,” I mumbled indignantly, blushing. I definitely didn’t expect an audience.

“Indeed, Miss. I must admit I didn’t expect you here today.”

Oops, I must’ve accidentally occupied his classroom during a bad time. What is done is done, I was thirty minutes away from basically finishing the potion and I wasn’t going to waste perfectly good ingredients. “I’ll be done with it in half an hour, professor.”

“Very well.” Snape said, conjuring a chair for his fellow professor, facing the front of his desk. A house elf appeared with a full tea set and biscuits.

“Don’t stop on our account, Miss. You have nothing to be ashamed about.” Gaunt swished his wand to position the chair half a turn towards me.

His suggestion sounded more like an order to me. And who was I to rob the Dark Lord of the pleasures of modern muggle music? I smiled, surely my incisors showed. “Time, it needs time to win back your love again, I will be there…” Rock-‘n’-roll classics were my Achilles’s heel when it came to music.

Chop, chop, chop. Plop. My potion was simmering more actively now, little geyser-like splashes appeared.

“You should give me a chance, this can’t be the end… I’m still loving yo-o-ou!” So, I might have sang a little louder than previously, definitely loud enough to drown whatever the professors were discussing between themselves in a quiet voice. Sue me, fucking try me, this song wasn’t meant to be sung quietly. It’s a power ballad.

The men sipped their tea and talked, looking all regal and fancy from my point of observation. Of course I couldn’t resist sneaking a peak at their faces now and then as I performed the favourite songs from my playlist of “Summer 96’”. “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn”, “Bad Case of Loving You” to set a more cheerful mood after that (Gaunt started frowning). I must have got carried away in my work hence Janis Joplin appeared in my head.

“I’d like to sing a song of great political importance, here it goes…” I mumbled the words just like the great singer did on the tape that I had. Clacking of spoons and conversation stopped in the room. “Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes-Benz? My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends…” I sang, loudly tapping my foot to set the rhythm of the song.

It was one of my most favorite songs ever. It was really simple and beautiful in it’s meaning, I could relate to the message it sent. It also further fed my disdain for religion. Placing personal responsibility on the shoulders of some mysterious all-powerful figure? No thanks. It seemed like a super unhealthy way of approaching things.

While tidying up after myself, I finished the song. In the following silence, I cast the appropriate charms on my potion, fed the protection rune last drops of my blood and stretched with a sign. A Tempus charm showed that is was half past ten. I was here for an hour and a half. Hour and a half that I could have been reading about lucid dreaming… Sigh. Sniff.

“Why don’t you join us for a late cup of tea, miss Wugg?” Gaunt interrupted my plans for reading with a wolfish grin and an invitation I couldn’t politely refuse. Professor Snape wordlessly conjured another chair next to Gaunt’s. I sat down, smoothing invisible creases on my jeans.

Right. I’m having a tea party with the Dark Lord. Whilst wearing a turtleneck and mom jeans. Just kill me now, spare me the the misery…

“How do you take your tea?” Carefully pouring the drink in frail porcelain that looked ancient, Gaunt inquisitively looked at the various condiments scattered around the table.

“Black, sir.” Like my men! Dumb, dumb brain. Shut up. My eyes were dead set on the biscuits however - don’t judge a girl who loves her snacks! Midnight snacks are the best, mmm…

A cup was passed to me; blowing on it softly, I took a small sip of the liquid, feeling conscious of the way I sat and moved.

“I’ve noticed you coming here more often, miss Wugg. What is your progress?” Severus Snape was rumoured to be a rare half-blood stuck between pureblood Slytherin snakes. Whatever the truth was, he was really good at this whole polite society thing. He certainly didn’t look like a man who bothered with small talk.

“I’ve reached the final stage, Sir. I plan to bottle it at tomorrow’s Potions lecture. The characteristics appear to match the ones in the recipe you gave me, although I took the liberty to experiment a little bit.” I was anxious to admit I switched some of the ingredients to their more modern analogues.

It took me several days to recalculate the proper measurements and as I couldn’t smell the end result, I wasn’t completely sure I had done everything perfectly. Which was needed, professor Snape does not recognize anything but a perfectly done potion - the ones he grades “acceptable” usually go on par with ones wizardfolk orders off the mass production owl delivery catalogues. I suppose, owl delivery potions was drugstore stuff, going to an apothecary was like going to a GP, and going to St. Mungo’s was for serious stuff. Like spare ears and eyeball ulcers. Or something like that.

“Experiment?” I had gotten Snape’s attention. The teacup stood abandoned on the desktop and he had his index finger running along his chin, a sure sign of his rapt attention.

“Nothing innovative, Sir. I swapped and recalculated the ingredients to fit the modern potion-making style. Several ingredients, I noticed, quadrupled in price since… Whenever that potion was invented. The author was so kind as to estimate the preparation costs in a footnote, for most of the stuff in the book.” His curiosity blanketed me in a familiar setting of reassurance for reasons I’d ever speak about only over my dead body.

I noticed a big difference between dream-Snape and the real one: in my dreams, the Potions’ Master didn’t have the finger-jaw gesture of his real-life prototype, dream-Snape made a fingerlock that rested on his belly - just like I did when I was focused on something. I wondered what other unknown things my subconscious replaced with my personal perception of the world…

“Now, Severus, I know you can talk cauldrons day and night. No need to corrupt young, beautiful ladies, old friend.” Gaunt’s patronising tone sparked indignation within me, and not only me - Snape’s face immediately scrunched back to his everyday sourness. “I apologise for this question, may I know your full name?” Something was off with the familiarity Gaunt attempted to seek, I knew it.

There shouldn’t be harm in him knowing my FIRST NAME, right? Unless I’m being a clueless mudblood. “My name is Alice Lillian Wugg, Sir.” Generic, I know - right? My birth mother was a fan of Lewis Carroll and strong-smelling flowers. Cheesy.

“Nice to properly meet you, Alice - may I call you that?” Upon receiving an affirmative nod, Gaunt continued posturing. “I am Thomas Marvolo Gaunt, Lord Slytherin.” The way he said, I was sure there should be a mariachi band or trumpets or a ticker tape parade.

“Nice to meet you too, Sir.” I stated as plainly and politely as I could. The disappointment on his face was real. Surely it will come back and bite me in the ass one day…

It was the DADA professor who talked mostly. I gave it half a listen and politely nodded, “ahhed” and “oohed” where appropriate whilst trying to figure out whether going from Dark Lord to DADA professor is an upgrade or a downgrade. Real talk, serious stuff. I left a little bit after 10 o’clock, apparently Snape forgot to withdraw my curfew extension paper.

The potion was a success. Yes, Gaunt was present at the bottling, took one vial for himself too. One cauldron yielded five portions, two of which went to me and three went to the school. Yes, Snape did read through my notebook, fluffy covers and all - but his face, mate, it’s something I would have watched every time I felt down if I could somehow get the memory onto a VHS. Yes, Gaunt held the notebook too - well, he levitated it. Gave me a big fat stink eye.

I accidentally trolled two of the most intimidating professors in the school and that made me somewhat forcefully climb the social ladder. Of course, there were rumors. I saw the Twin Terrors making Potter hiccup and look around wildly every time they mentioned “Gaunt” and “notebook” in one sentence. The poor kid was in jitters.

Flitwick gave me 50 points for great sense of humor. I thought those points were the only ones I’ve personally earned during my time in this school, I din’t care about some stupid House Cup.

I went to Sprout to talk about the Contraceptive potion and accidentally found out her secret, which in turn, made both of us cry a little - she was unable to have kids due to some kind of hereditary curse that shows itself sporadically in her family. She was glad she had a brother or the Sprout family, well-known plant enthusiasts, would have had to die out. Her husband all but abandoned her, choosing to spend his days taking care of their in-house tropical garden.

I must have been getting great at the whole therapy thing, eh? I reassured her appropriately and advised her to look into the adoption of mudblood kids. Surely there must be some kind of spell to detect magic within them? There was, my common sense won the fight, and I told her that next summer we can go and visit multiple large foster families that lived in my area. Or just use the Disillusionment and Confundus charms, I’m practical like that. And fuck all if her husband wants “biological” kids (she said some other wizard term, I think), if you do the appropriate blood adoption ritual, there’s no difference who’s vagina it came out of.

OK that one ritual had been recently made illegal. But what’s a little law break to get your own family, it’s nothing. I would do it. In turn, I was to explain to Sprout about my childhood and how I was found wandering in the nearby park, starving, barefoot in my nightie at 20°F. It was my magic that kept me alive, you know? The very same thing my parents hated me for.

Later, when I became older, I went to a check-up at St. Mungo’s - my foster parents insisted I be deemed healthy by ‘my own’ people - Head Healer told me some of my magic burnt out whilst keeping me alive at that time. My core was irreparably scarred. It didn’t bother me at the time but now I couldn’t help but feel some regret: I’ve seen the things Dumbledore, Snape, Flitwick or even Granger can create - I could never reach that level of mastery. My proverbial fingers weren’t nimble and long enough to play proverbial the piano.

I decided to stay in the castle for Christmas this year. My foster parents owled me they were planning a trip and I decided they deserved some good, romantic getaway, far from all computers and dead bodies. They seemed grateful. Hard-working people, easy-going, I lucked out when I was placed with the couple - they were first timers, at first they tried to be a short-time emergency placement home but apparently I grew on them and they decided to keep me.

I grew on them like a cute little fungus, I think, because shortly before McGonagall arrived with my Hogwarts letter, there was talk of adoption. I was a nosy kid, eavesdropping wasn’t above me. After I came home, done with the first year of school, I told them they shouldn’t adopt me. I thought I will be forced to stay in the Wizarding World, feeling extra-bad by suddenly becoming the absent kid that showed up only for holidays. Getting attached to people so far away from my own life… I couldn’t bear it.

I left Dean Sprout in the company of her homemade cherry liquor, the same one I wanted to try but refused to in fears of getting caught - I wasn’t about to rat her out for giving me booze either, so the rationale won and I refused drinking whatsoever. Go me!

What I really, really craved was a cigarette. Don’t judge me - almost eighty percent of foster kids over the age of 13 are smokers. I didn’t risk bringing mine to school but I knew some people who could get me some. And so, two packs of Marlboro entered my possession and I parted with a whole galleon. It was a robbery, god damnit!

I could simply smoke in my bedroom as I lived alone but that’s not very exciting when you’re a teenager, so I trotted my way over to the Northern Tower - a small one with a balcony, it was positioned in between Ravenclaw tower and the Astronomy tower. It was a secluded area, not very many people knew the correct corridor to enter it - most people got the one who brought them to the kitchens.

Flick, drag, puff. Drag, puff.

I felt drained and exhausted after my conversation with Sprout, having expected advice and get the situation turned the other way around instead. It wasn’t fair that a grown up woman, a teacher, put out her sorrows on her teenage student. I was planning to take the best damn nap I’ve ever had because next day was the start of blissful class-free two weeks. I was going to spend it with Father Severus.

And so I did. That night was a revelation. I consciously made a decision to speak to Father Severus about that day’s happenstances and the odd situation I’d found myself in with professor Sprout. Dream-me asked the right questions, dream-Snape gave the answers I craved so much.

“You need to be needed, little girl. Other people can smell that on you, whether you want it or not. Your uninvolved attitude may fool the foolish, however it won’t deter anybody who sees something of value in you.” He said as I once again was draped over his lap, as he gently stroked my hair.

“I don’t like that. I don’t need anybody, I’ve got you.” Maybe it was childish of me to say, even delusional - but in that moment, I felt it true.

“Humans are social animals whether you agree with that or not.”

“I don’t. And you’re me, so you should know I can do whatever I damn well please.” I was really getting tired of the back and forth arguing about what I really wanted. I’d be happy to spend the rest of my days alone. Well, not exactly - my future job would have me interacting with a lot of people in various stages of distress, I’d spent some time thinking about that choice and came to a conclusion my rational thinking could do good to someone overwhelmed by feelings.

“Always keeping everybody at an arm’s length, little girl.” Father Severus sneered. “Go on, tell me then, what do you want to do?” I won’t lie, he scared me there for a minute. If I could, I would’ve closed my eyes - far too much his face and tone full of vitriol reminded me of his real-life copy.

My heart raced, palms turning clammy. Staring into the impenetrable abyss of his eyes, my arms being pinned behind my back with a large, hot palm - somehow I knew what was coming, dread and causeless excitement bubbled in my veins. My plaid skirt was yanked up and aside uncerimoniously and the lacy underwear I’d recently started wearing torn in two pieces that hung around my hips like a garter belt. I was splayed across his lap, butt up, within a heartbeat and the first slap came without notice.

It burned, it stung and resonated within my body from my ribs to my knees. I felt them wobble.

“You think you can get away with anything, don’t you?” Father Severus gritted out, voice raspy. Blow after blow rained down on my sore flesh and I’ve yet had to emit more than a whimper. Somehow I felt that if I make a noise, he would stop, and by the God’s I didn’t not want him to stop.

“You’re a filthy little brat who dreams of fucking her teacher,” he continued, viciously grabbing one buttock, digging his nails into it, roughly kneading the flesh. It felt soothing to my skin, replacing that raw burning feeling, easing the blood flow to the abused tissue.

“One day the whole school will have you parading around with your skirt half the length it is now and your shirt’s top three buttons undone.” The Potions’ Master in my dream sounded hoarse; whilst I couldn’t see much of him, I knew he was as disheveled and sweaty as myself in the dream. I bit my lip, suppressing a moan.

“I can see how wanton you are, little girl,” continuing his verbal assault, his long fingers traveled to my core: much to my embarrassment I was soaking wet, dripping down on his trousers. Dream-Snape wasted no time in dipping two of his fingers, letting them rub against my slit.

My eyeballs rolled back in my head at the expert teasing. Clever fingertips rolled over and over the sensitive bundle of flesh, gentle pressure sparking tiny shivers all across my lax form, yet not fast enough to grant me any real relief. Being stuck in a limbo turned my limbs to jelly and my thoughts to mush, I couldn’t have done much more than give myself up for his sweet torture.

“I know what you want, little girl,” he taunted, his movements remaining even, “And I will give it to you. All you have to do is ask.”

To be fair, it was just like him - the real him - to ask for the impossible. I was ashamed, ashamed to be so turned on and even more so, I was mortified it was exactly HIM whispering filth in my ear and touching me in such an intimate way. My head shook negatively, seemingly of it’s own accord.

“Playing hard to get? It’s a little too late for that.” The man in my dream picked up his pace a little bit. My wrists were secured enough that if I decided to thrash, I would only hurt myself and there was no other option but to surrender myself to his mercy.

“Please…” I begged, hiding my face, hanging my head in shame. Oh, the shame burned, it burned worse than my abused ass.

His movements grew that much faster in encouragement as I felt the tell-tale fluttering in my stomach. I was approaching my peak. “Please what, mmm?” Like dark chocolate, his rich voice poured over my ears, drowning out the mortification in me and giving way to lust deep within my core.

“Please, fuck, make me… Make me come!” I nearly screamed the last part of the sentence as I felt two fingers dip inside me, inside my untouched walls. They were silky smooth and I felt so full that I- “FUCK!”

The orgasm washed over me with a vigor unlike I’ve experienced ever before. My inner walls convulsing around something for the first time, such a curious feeling - surprisingly, not a trace of pain - I bucked against his fingers, guided by pure instinct, prolonging the already fading sensations of bliss.

When I finally found my focus, I looked up to him to see a smile - amazed at how much it suited him, I wanted to say something and…

I woke up.

Fuck.

FUCK.

I dragged my feet to the Great Hall that day, postponing the inevitable, stalling for as long as I could. Fearing my traitor face blushing, or worse, grinning when I saw professor Snape, I purposely wore lighter clothes despite the castle being absolutely freezing that time of the year.

What does one do after an incident… Like that? How can I ever look him in the eye? My common sense must’ve had given up because despite it being absolutely absurd, I was sure he would have seen absolutely everything written on my face in big, fat glowing letters.

So lunch was had by me in an absolutely adorable denim set I had bought on sale right before departing for school. Distressed mom jeans with holes in them and an equally distressed denim jacket with one of my favorite band’s logo on the back - Guns’n’Roses. My t-shirt was plain white, and if I’m being honest, a little bit see through. Not exactly Wizarding school attire, if you catch my drift, but it was my casual style - I wasn’t very keen on dresses, skirts and other girly shit. And don’t get me started on jewelry, I couldn’t keep track of a single adornment for longer than a week.

It was the first time I had stayed at Hogwarts during the winter break and I honestly had no idea how people behaved in that particular situation. Was the curfew still intact? Did I have to wear the school uniform even though it’s technically a lesson-free environment for the time being? Fuck knows, I’ll just do me.

As it turned out, the atmosphere was way more relaxed than I thought it would be. There were only twenty-something students staying in, so all we had was this one big table loaded with food we shared with the teachers for the time being, professors on one side and students on the other.

I ran out of luck there. The trio of Tall, Dark and Handsome (read: Gaunt, Snape and Malfoy Sr.) had the only vacant spots in front of them, aside of a lone Slytherin third year who sat stiff as a ramrod. It seemed like no one was delighted to be sharing their company, preferring to crowd around the chatty Flitwick, Sprout and Dumbledore.

With a resigned sigh and a gurgling stomach, I ungracefully plopped down in the only vacant spot. “G’day, sirs.” I mumbled, eyeing the large dish of beef stew placed across me, to professor Malfoy’s right. The man must’ve been feeling jovial as he pushed the stew towards me with a somber nod.

Putting a hefty portion onto my plate, I added the carrot and cabbage salad right on top of it, manners be damned. I am a growing organism, what can I do?

The poor Slytherin all but started hiccuping next to me, his own plate untouched, the food placed perfectly.

“Eat up, kid, you’re growing.” I told him, the poor lad. Was he terrified of the red-eyed man in front of him, the same man who was contemplating how to best approach a piece of brisket? Even Dark Lords needed to eat. “I won’t be able to eat you if you’re all skin and bones.” I added, wiggling my eyebrows menacingly. One way to get a rise out of a snake was to annoy it and that was exactly my point.

Shooting a glare at me, the boy finally picked up his utensils and carefully popped a potato in his mouth. He’s like fourteen, how can he even look that regal? Ugh, aristocrats.

Professor Malfoy didn’t bother to hide his chuckling: “Well played, Miss Wugg.”

I gave him a mock salute with my fork, shoveling my food at an impressive speed. OK, I was hoping to finish this meal as fast as possible without having to speak or look at professor Snape; even both of us being preoccupied with our food, I was fighting the creeping blush - I saw his hands, dexterously maneuvering his knife and fork, cutting his beefsteak into precise little squares and couldn’t help images of last night flooding my head.

“I can’t help myself, forgive me for my possibly rude inquiry…” Lucius Malfoy sounded slightly baffled, exactly the appropriate amount of bewilderment and charm to get away with any question that polite society would have frowned upon. “What are you wearing?”

“Mudblood stuff.” I answered without a thought, stopping only for a brief moment to swallow a piece of potato. “Probably not what your kind is used seeing witches wear, right?” Seriously, I can count on my one single hand how many times I’d seen a witch wear pants. Now that was really baffling, for real.

“You’re quite right, Miss Wugg. Witches do not indulge in such… Fashions.” If anything, he said the last word with a clear implication of “you’re literally wearing a trash bag”. Message received loud and clear.

“That’s a pity. The Wizarding World could use some variety.” I attempted a conversational tone, not showing how much his attitude truly pissed me off. I’ve had to deal with the “you-need-to-act-like-a-woman” stuff ever since I’d moved in with my foster parents and started essentially dressing myself and picking out my own clothes. “It gets so boring to look around and see the same thing over and over, does it not?” I drove the point home by reclining against the seat of my chair, the t-shirt I was wearing nicely stretched across my chest, my tight jeans hugging my waist in the right places. Inadvertently imitating my Potions’ professor, my eyebrow cocked up.

Professor Malfoy allowed his glance to wander over me for a second more than appropriate. “Perhaps.” A tiny upturn of his lips signified I played my cards right.

“Miss Wugg? Alice?” Came a voice from the other side of the table. It was the Head of my house, professor Flitwick. “I’m surprised to see you joining us. Everything alright at home?”

Now Filius, my dear, kind soul. It had taken me an hour to explain him what a foster family is in my first year and he’d been occasionally having bouts of mother-henning ever since. The half-goblin made sure I had my own room after I had a nasty falling out with one of my classmates and she had hexed all my clothes back in Year Four, he sent me letters every two weeks during the summer with the latest news in the Wizarding World along with a box of chocolate frogs; now and then he invited me for tea where he sneakily tried to find out more about my birth parents, despite me having told him all I could remember by year 3.

My last name was changed after both of them went to jail for child abuse and I never bothered to find out anything about them. They already made their choice and if they didn’t need me, I didn’t need them.

“Of course, professor Flitwick. My folks are having a romantic getaway, I thought I’d stay out of their hair this year. Plus I could use some practice here and there.”

Charms professor nodded in satisfaction.

“My parents are visiting my grand-cousin for Yule, mother said Côte d’Azur is quite warm this time of the year.” The Slytherin boy’s voice was unsteady but he had bollocks, I’d give him that. At least he attempted a conversation, as to the humble bragging - they’re snakes, what else can I expect?

“We have relatives in France, I must insist you visit Paris some day, young man. It is quite the sight, especially this time of the year.” Lucius Malfoy carefully sipped his mulled wine.

“And the cheese baguettes…” I added thoughtfully, causing Severus Snape of all people to chuckle.

“Is food the only thing on your mind, Miss Wugg?”

“Food never betrays and rarely disappoints,” I pointed at my now-empty plate with a fork. The Potions’ professor cast a speculative look at my plate followed by a narrow-eyed stare directed at the stewpot. “Are you really going to poison the student you hate the least?” I was feeling particularly chatty that day, wasn’t I? The small amount of students and the relaxed atmosphere promoted me to open up a little bit and despite my general feeling of discomfort in large groups of people, I could even quip a joke. Jolly Christmas, indeed. All we were missing was mistletoe.

“You have made a good point, Miss Wugg.” He quipped, sides of his mouth tilting upward in a ghost of a smile. “I guess I’ll have to wait until somebody more agreeable comes along and postpone your poisoning until then.”

Woah, professor Snape had a sense of humor? Was Earth on fire? Had the aliens come to visit us?

I took full pleasure in enjoying the Hogwarts castle without needing to hurry to five different classrooms a day. It was amazing how many interesting places I’ve missed in my constant rush, I’ve almost had started to regret spending all my free time with books. So stereotypical for a Raven, right? Books in the dorm, books in the Great Hall, books in the yard and books in the hallways during recess.

During my sixth year at Hogwarts, I discovered the castle anew. It was magical, so many empty classrooms and halls left unused but open. Whilst I usually ignored talking paintings - that’s fucking creepy - suddenly I had new motivation to talk to them, overcoming my feelings of unease regarding talking to dead people.

I found empty dueling rooms enchanted so thickly, it felt like all time had stopped there. Potions brewery with loads and loads of old, rusty and unkempt equipment, so outdated I had trouble naming all the objects within a pile. Greatly rejoiced, I stumbled upon a room that had to be a music room at least a century ago: assembly of various classical instruments was covered in inches of dust. I departed with a loving brush of my fingers against the side of a royal grand piano. I had feet for hands, there was no way I could have learned to play it.

I had four housemates staying in, the common room being comfortably quiet four fifths of a day. If I look back somberly, Ravens might have been a quiet-er and more reserved bunch but they were teens and kids nonetheless so petty fights and the occasional game of Exploding Snap was inevitable. These holidays, I finally enjoyed some quiet.

Two days before Christmas a sudden realization hit me: PRESENTS!!! I was so taken away by my new archeological hobby, I’d forgotten all about my manners. My foster parents would get theirs when they returned, which could wait for after New Year’s, but I’d made a habit of giving Flitwick something he could find interesting (read: something very muggle) since year one and I’d gotten a gift to professor Lupin, mostly because he taught me a few specific charms that a less magically potent person could use more than the Protego counter-curse. While being about as effective as a brick to the head, it required some power. Power that I didn’t always necessarily have.

Embarrassingly… I gave him a locket. Made of silver, a tiger I found in Chinatown. Hear this: I gave a silver thing-a-ma-do to a werewolf. Fiasco. Curtain close.

Either way, I had to get some shopping done. It took me a few hours to remember I was magically of age and therefore could request a leave of absence during days in which there were no mandatory lessons. Cool, right? Flitwick drew up the paperwork right there at the supper table all but gleefully rubbing his hands: he was utterly fascinated by the things I gave him for previous Christmases and couldn’t wait to see what I had for him.

“Can we do like, two full days, one night? There’s a movie out that I wanted to see.” I really, really hated how isolated Hogwarts made me feel. No music, no movies, no electricity for fuck’s sake. I was really eager to get some civilization in me.

“Going to meet some friends?” Flitwick asked absent mindedly, penning in the needed details.

“Haha, very funny. Who needs friends?” I laughed sarcastically. Being away for three fourths of the year didn’t do me any good on the friendship front with muggles, unfortunately to me. I thought I would do much better with muggles rather then old-mannered wizardfolk.

“Oh Merlin, going to a movie theater alone? That’s like pathetic, but also sad.” A fifth year Hufflepuff remarked. There were quite a few giggles from the girls surrounding her.

I’ve had it with these dumb cunts. “You know the thing about opinions? They’re like arseholes: everybody has one and nobody wants to see yours.” What’s the worst that could happen, I’mma lose some points? Fuck that.

The reaction was predictable: Dumbledore choked, McGonagall chastised me and Flitwick and Malfoy Sr just cackled. I shrugged. At least that got the annoying girls to be quiet.

I touched the tip of my wand to the parchment of the contract, they both glowed briefly and I was set for the next day. As apparition lessons started only next semester, I was set to use Flitwick’s Floo to get to Leaky Cauldron to travel to London. He promised to leave it open for when I was scheduled to return.

Professor Filius Flitwick is the man.

I left the next morning, skipping breakfast in favor of getting my shopping done early. Besides that, I had various plans for my free days: watch a movie or two, go to the record store to update my music library, ride the ferris wheel at River Thames…

I haven’t seen much of London if I’m being honest. My foster parents lived in a smaller town about an hour’s drive out and worked locally, the three times we’d been there I didn’t get to see much - first two times I was far too little, last time being on my fifteenth birthday when my foster mom had it all planned out with age appropriate activities.

I rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron, returned a couple of times to put my shopping bags away. Not wanting to risk food poisoning as well as craving something new, I wandered a bit around the city before spotting a clean looking pub that advertised not only beer but also food.

That’s where I met Jimmie. His real name was James but he said it sounded rather dull and choose a more modern moniker. He sat down next to me at the counter, chatting about music - of all things - himself being a musician, he, too, favored the heavier spectrum of tunes. He bought me a beer, then some cider, not before laughing at the face I made at the mouldy taste of the brew.

He was 28 and never bothered to ask my age, probably assuming I’m at least twenty. Most people did, maybe because I wasn’t a chatterbox or maybe because I actually had tits. Either way, I got tipsy. The bubbles in the cider got to my head really quick, making the world appear happier, more colorful than it possibly was.

We laughed and joked until it was time to leave. His hands brushed along my hair, my sides, he was so gentle like he was afraid to break me. I remember how his hair smelled of wax when we danced to some lad singing in Irish. Jimmie’s kisses weren’t wet, they were hot and all-consuming; his intentions clearly showed in how he kissed despite his predeceasing tenderness.

My God, I must’ve looked a fool. I never claimed to be naive to what he was doing but it was oh so new to me: the way he held onto me when we danced, when we stumbled upstairs to his attic, hole-in-the-wall flat, tearing off our winter clothes right there.

It didn’t hurt at all. I started dripping when he touched me, when he tasted me - I should have been mortified about the sheen of moisture on his face but I couldn’t bring myself to. Jimmie was musky and salty, his dark caramel skin shining like it was polished in the dim, yellow radiance of the streetlight seeping through the small skylight.

I am who I am and I insisted on doing everything myself. Rising and falling, growing a more rapid tempo as I approached my second peak of the night, my eyelids were tightly shut as to not disturb the magic of the moment.

It was still dark when I woke up, groggy, the bubbles in my head have dissipated into a full throb. I noticed Jimmie was still up, sitting under the skylight with a notepad in his hands, chewing on the rubber end of a pencil.

“What are you up to?” I smiled at him as I stretched.

Startled for a second, the man returned my happy smile with a wolfish grin of his own. “Writing a song. Inspiration tends strike at the most inconvenient of times.”

I giggled. “Don’t mind me. Can I see?”

He pretended to think for a moment before returning to his smiling self. “I’ll do you one better. You can hear it.”

So I listened to him and his old guitar. I felt flattered I suppose, a part of me seeing the obvious and another part saying it’s all a big sham. It was clear, though, whatever inspired him had been in some way related to me.

“I’m about to take you back to church … Baptize in your thighs ’til it hurts…”

I was mesmerized by the lyrics and the tune of the song. I couldn’t tell if he was any good of a singer if you’d ask me, all I could feel was his flesh on top of mine, I could taste him on the tip of my tongue.

We’d done it again, and again until first light begun creeping into the skylight, coating the room in a cold twilight. It was wonderful, I never wanted it to end.

“Can I see you again?” He asked the dreaded question.

I wanted to scream yes. “I’m a private college student. It’s a boarding school type of thing.”

He chuckled, ruffling his hair. His whole expression was pitiful. “Figured a girl like you would be. Well, if you’re around, you know where to find me.” Implying I haven’t already forgotten the name and the place of the bar.

I solemnly nodded, pulling on my pants and trousers. What a pity, I never found out if he recorded the song he wrote of if he got famous at all. I kissed him goodbye, like a woman.

Flitwick gave me a careful once-over when I arrived back at Hogwarts. Trying not appear too cheerful, too confident, too… I changed, didn’t I? I became a grown woman, surely everyone around me could see it.

“Had a good time?”

I blushed, right fuckin crimson. That’s basically unheard of, I rarely get embarrassed enough to show it. I’m not the type to be coy. “Yeah, sure,” I stammered.

Filius grinned but wisely kept his mouth shut. I thought I would’ve fallen through the good Earth or spontaneously apparated somewhere to Russia if he’d give me a lecture on safe sex or something and I definitely didn’t have it in me to explain how condoms work.

The lack of sleep caught up to me as I was sorting and wrapping the presents, manually, without the help of Magic. It was a point of principle for me, I felt it cheapened the experience somehow - one, two swish and an hour’s work is done within mere seconds, the effort barely there. I guess I was a muggle with a wand, as Lord Malfoy liked to say.

Once I finished, the only thing I bothered with was to set the alarm to make it in time for the Christmas feast; I fell asleep with my shoes on, curling around two pillows for warmth.

My head was much clearer when I had slept a few hours, blissfully hangover-free. Had been looking back at that night, the experience had lost a bit of the rosy hue, leaving me satisfied but… But. What was that but, I couldn’t figure out. Jimmie was a good lay, generous lover.

Cheesy as it might have been, the whole “I wrote a song about how we fucked” trope didn’t immediately lose it’s appeal to me, the song itself was dirty, I could picture it with jagged guitar riffs and a sweltry drumming job; Jimmie’s voice, however, had been too high for my liking.

I decided I needed to feel as pretty, as desirable on the outside as I felt on the inside. Definitely understood what all the fuss is about regarding sex.

A few dresses sat in my closet, happily forgotten and collecting dust. I wasn’t sure if they would still fit me, fortunately for me I knew the basic few charms to alter clothes with minor defects.

A deep blue velvet dress with long sleeves and a plunging V-neck, the kind of dress that I probably shouldn’t wear in school - yeah, I choose exactly that one. It had a high waist and went to an inch above my knees, the skirt not overly tight yet fitting enough to show off my curves. I chose black, blocky heels to go with my dress, leaving my hair to flow free, having added a bit of volume and a black ribbon on top.

As long as I can remember myself, I’ve always been fond of cat eye eyeliner. It really made my eyes pop, relieving me of needing lipstick - my lips were way too thin to wear the shades of red I admired on the likes of Marylin Monroe.

A heavyweight velvet robe went over my outfit, charmed for warmth. It had cost me a fortune and I felt I should wear it at least once before I grew out of it completely.

Yeah, I bought it for the Triwizard Tournament Ball. I just didn’t get invited. Woe is me. Boo fucking hoo.

Exiting my room, I realized I haven’t seen Father Severus for the past two days, I slept dreamlessly, but my mind was so preoccupied with everything that has happened and was going to happen, I left the thought resting somewhere in the back of my mind.

I came in unnoticed. Thirty or so people, teachers and students alike, conversing amongst themselves, some louder than others. Quietly bypassing the crowd, I snuck to my natural habitat - the snack table. The annoying Hufflepuff girls that crowded around the punch bowl ignored me, pretending I don’t exist.

Having piled my plate with a mountain of turkey, ham, prawns and cheese, my eyes lazily scanned the room.

Professor Dumbledore, clad in absolutely psychedelic robes, chatted with some first and second years, ever the cheerful grandfather. Professor Sprout, McGonagall and Sinistra gossiping in the far corner, huddling together around a flask and looking to be well into their drink. Gryffindor boys animatedly talking with Hagrid and Kettleburn; Potter and Weasley boys all but hiding behind the giant bearded man.

Probably from Gaunt, who was engaging in a debate with Flitwick, Ravenclaws and the lone Slytherin boy. I failed to find both Malfoy and Snape, both of them probably hiding - the former from his fangirl club, the latter from people altogether.

“Oh my, this evening just became so very merrier.” I heard a smooth baritone behind me, just above my ear. Instantly, I was wrapped in the scents of oak and rosewood, a combination very pleasant yet very unusual to my nose. I wasn’t accustomed to being around men who used perfume, which was a big hint regarding the owner of the voice.

“Merry Christmas, professor Malfoy.” I slowly turned around.

He was grinning cockishly, eyes dark, something lurking behind those grey orbs. “Indeed, Miss Wugg.” He offered me a glass of mulled wine, identical to the one he was nursing himself and I wasted no time in taking it.

I had to begrudgingly admit to myself, the man intrigued me and his attention was quite flattering. I felt less silly in my festive dress robes, posted next to a man like that.

“The Headmaster absolutely insisted we address each other on a first-name basis, tonight.” Professor Malfoy said conversationally. “Hogwarts is our home and family for the time being.”

“I see… Lucius.” I took my pleasure in saying his name absolutely calmly, like he was a peer; nothing like the stupid fangirls would’ve done. For a moment, the magnetic look in his eyes intensified.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw professor Snape enter the Great Hall, unvarying black robes billowing behind him. His onyx eyes immediately landed on me and Lucius; looking back, Malfoy had been standing decidedly closer behind me than appropriate for a teacher, not that I minded. Something told me I had already won whatever game he was trying to play. Or perhaps it was my newfound confidence in my womanhood? Only Merlin knew…

Professor Snape reached us in several long, sharp strides. “Lucius, Miss Wugg.” He didn’t seem too festive, eyeing Malfoy with a warning in his eyes.

Letting myself get lost in my head for a bit while they exchanged pleasantries, I dared to imagine how it looked to the unbeknownst… Almost as if the two professors were fighting over me. Silly girl, indeed. Mulled wine was packing a punch that evening because I found myself not minding either man taking advantage of me. My dream persona made my deepest desires crystal clear and I wasn’t going to go and deny them whilst that wonderfully warm, cinnamon infused drink was coursing through my veins.

We had attracted the attention of Gaunt, who was making his way over, as well as Flitwick, the little professor wearing and inquisitive and absolutely mischievous glint in his eye that promised mayhem.

“Merry Christmas!”

Yeah, very much, thanks, you too, good luck, have fun. Soft music started playing in the background.

“Miss Wugg - err, Alice, dear?” Flitwick extended his hand towards me, smiling. I possibly couldn’t refuse a dance with the Head of my House! I didn’t want to either, though the height difference - he barely reached my waist in my four inch heels - could have given us some grief.

I kicked off my heels, leaving me barefoot and Lucius Malfoy to keepsake my abandoned shoes.

Filius cracked jokes and told tall tales, losing like forty years of age in just a few minutes. His goblin heritage showed too if only judging by the bloodthirsty look he got whilst telling me about his prowess as a professional Duelist, gleefully cackling at his opponents (quite hilarious) failures.

The third song or maybe the fifth ended to me wheezing and holding onto my stomach - God, I went and ruined my “scary bitch loner” reputation. Flitwick was just that good.

“I’m telling you Filius, stop, I’ll die and you’ll have to buy my a casket, but I want a bright pink one, it’s going to be a major pain in arse to find it, trust me!” My unsuccessful attempts to make him stop the bullshit only infuriated him further; he progressively came up with wilder and wilder stories of his youth.

“Really Filius, are you going to be so cruel as to rob us all of Alice’s wonderful company this evening? How very goblin of you.” Professor Gaunt was slowly walking to my side, a glass of water in hand. Though the turn of phrase was controversial, his tone bore no malice. He looked about as content as a Dark Lord could be without a Crucio to brighten up the party.

“Truly. Alice, dear, don’t hesitate to come to me if you want to hear a good story. We can sort out the coffin business at a later time.” The tiny Charms professor laughed, wiping tears from his eyes.

When have I become the castle clown? Si-igh…

Professor Gaunt escorted me to a nearby chair, depositing my glass on the nearby table after I chugged it in three seconds flat. I saw my shoes being deposited next to my feet by his long slender palms. “I think you would need to put them on if we were to dance.” Lord Slytherin calmly said, towering over my sitting form. And he was right - the red-eyed man was the tallest person I’ve stood next to in real life, easily over six and half feet in height. With a flick of his wand, my shoes sat comfortably on me.

And so we danced, for a song, then I was passed off to Dumbledore who was speaking some kind of philosophical nonsense about redemptions and warm hearts (he must’ve gotten into McGonagall’s booze right early), then the Slytherin boy who blushed and stammered and stepped on my feet more than a couple of times. He was adorable in his shyness, I’ve rarely seen such an unrestrained, genuine reaction from a snake.

Even Potter approached me, evidently compelled to leave his sulking ginger friend and make small talk with at least somebody. “I’ll dance with you for one song, they’ll get off your back and I’ll go hit the loo. We have a deal?” I saw relief immediately after I shared my nefarious plan with the Gryffindor.

So I did my business and decided to turn onto a nearby balcony for a smoke break. I was getting tired from all the different people; whilst it was good fun, I had never been a people’s person. Having snagged and chugged a rather large cup of wine in between dances, I was feeling pleasantly warm and buzzed in the crisp winter air.

“Well, well, well…” I heard Lucius’ voice behind me as I went through my second cigarette. I didn’t bother replying as the man once again came to stop inches away from back. I could feel the hot puffs of his breath tickle the hair on the back of my neck. “Breaking the school rules, aren’t we? I must admit, this is exactly what I expected when I first laid my eyes on you.”

Not one to disappoint, I slowly turned, placing my back against the railing. “I don’t give a fuck.” Feeling giddy in the proximity of the beautiful aristocrat, I knew it was my solemn duty to be as im-polite as possible. I wanted him to remember me like I was, a crude mudblood, a muggle with a wand. The words I said, I growled.

His scent hit me again, forcefully invading my space. If he took a lungful of breath, my breasts would’ve been pressing against his chest. I reclined further, putting one of my legs in-between his for balance, showing my stubborn streak.

“What are we going to do with you, hmm?” Lucius was playing the game, not fooling me. A blush creeped barely above the hemline of his crisp, white dress shirt (I wanted to tear off the buttons one by one), pupils blown wide and moist lips parted, tongue darting out to taste the fresh winternight air. His hands landed on either side of me with a thud, his face only a moment away.

I gave him a lewd, blatant once over, cocking my brow slightly at the bulge in his pants, slightly intimidated and very turned on. Coming to a point where I couldn’t resist my threatening grin anymore, I leaned in to whisper in his ear, one word that made him shudder over me: “Detention, professor.” Like I was the one making rules. Lucius certainly didn’t expect that: he could not hide his gasp.

Taking a second to compose himself, he sent shivers all down spine by gently nosing my neck, his voice suddenly soft. “You’re going to go back to the Great Hall, do your rounds, make excuses.” His tone didn’t accept any backtalk. “I’ll await for you. Here.”

And then he bit me. Not enough to bruise or even draw the slightest bit of blood yet firm, showing me to whom I belonged. My arousal levels had reached dangerously embarrassing heights. Pouring all my being into self-control, my knee rose to barely brush against his erection as I prepared to leave. Surprising me (and it looked like himself, too) Lucius didn’t mind my exit.

For once, I did as he told. Made my rounds, chatted politely, getting an increasingly grumpy look on my face. As planned, Flitwick had mercy and excused me from the gathering, ever the mother hen. I could see professor Sprout nodding in good part: she was known to be very protective and caring amongst her Badgers, to all students.

Little did they know…

I stepped onto the balcony expecting to find it empty; I was pleasantly surprised to see the blonde aristocrat resting on his elbows, looking at the dark night’s sky, appearing lost in the depths of his own mind.

Not the one to pass a good opportunity, I took a second to admire the broad expanse of his back. He had shed his robes, remaining in a tightly fitting, crisp white dress shirt that looked painted on. My eyes fell lower, appreciating his behind hugged by black bottoms, no less tight than his top.

He remained silent, letting me go unnoticed or at least pretending to. I lit a cigarette, causing him to slowly turn around, coming to a rest in a position unlike I was caught in earlier that night; I let him study me as I had studied, memorized him.

“Such a pretty thing, all alone this night? It’s a crime!” I smiled at him. The phrase came out of it’s own volition: during my years as a developed teenager I’d heard this too often coming from grown ass men. With Lucius expecting me, I felt somehow powerful, in control. I’d be a rotten liar if I told anybody I didn’t enjoy that with all the fire in my loins.

Professor Malfoy swallowed, audibly, catching himself and turning his surprise into a leer. He kept silent, so I finished my cigarette without lifting my eyes off his form and slowly made my way to him.

He was waiting for something, maybe me to do something, or maybe he was plotting my demise - I paid it no mind. Ever since I first saw him, I became mesmerized by his hair. Silky, shiny locks of an unreal white color. Without bothering to ask, I raked my fingers through the soft strands, catching him by surprise.

He didn’t expect it. But then again, what did he really saw in me if not a stupid little mudblood who hoped to gain access to luxury by jumping in bed with a member of high social circles? Luckily for him, I was interested only in his member, hehe. Intrigues weren’t really my style.

“We should find a more private area,” he breathed and we promptly made a way to his chambers, taking small hallways and sharp turns only he knew about.

I was giddy. The tension between us was palpable and I’m sure the reckless tasting of the forbidden fruit excited the adult man no less than it excited me, a rowdy teenager. In hindsight, it was such a clichè.

Once the door closed behind me, my back was smashed against it and his hands were all over me, covering me, cradling me in a crazy dance of lust. Gods, it made a fire start in my belly, but I wasn’t planning to give myself away so easily.

I wrapped both of my arms around Lucius’ neck and used gentle pressure there to steer him backwards, where I spied an enormous plush couch. My plan succeeded and he dropped into it on his arse, not very gracefully at that. We haven’t even kissed yet and the blonde wizard already looked wrecked compared to his everyday polished, elegant look.

“Sit.” I punctuated the word with a finger pointed in the middle of his chest. He stared back in confusion but his apprehension wasn’t fooling me; I could see the impressive bulge in his pants.

Riding a wave of ridiculous self-confidence, I made a right show of undressing myself. My back, my sleeves until the dress pooled around my ankles and I was left wearing nothing but black, lacy underwear and a pair of heels, my wand in it’s holster on the inside of my forearm.

Lucius made a choked noise, so quiet, I would have missed it if I wasn’t staring him down right in the face. What can I say, he was exceptionally beautiful. A girl can admire a beautiful man.

My next decision proved to be of the best kind - I slid onto his lap, thighs on the outside of his legs and squarely kissed him; like I wanted, pouring the heat and my desire into it - the man was powerless to resist, his stupor giving him a slow start.

He caught up fast enough, devouring my mouth right back, fucking it with his tongue, holding my hips as I ground into him. I busied my hands to unclasp his robes, then unbutton his shirt. Sculpted, hard muscle under it pleased me, defined pectorals and bulging triceps, it was all a treat for me to run my hands over and shamelessly grope.

I felt the smug radiating from him and decided it won’t do. Gathering the glorious Malfoy mane in one hand, I used the element of surprise to expose the white arch of his throat. Without a thought, I sunk my teeth into him - like he previously had done to me, only stronger, with more intent. Pulling away became an option only when Lucius’ fingertips dug into my hipbones on the brink of pain.

I was so turned on, I felt empty, like a large gaping hole that needed to be filled. Holding the breathless man, I reached for the buttons on his pants, palming his erection, looking him in the eye. Maybe I was feeling like a Femme Fatale, but consent was sexier than anything.

Lucius kind of, sort of looked flushed, even embarrassed - if I squint. “Cat got your tongue?” I hoped my grin was as sadistic as I felt.

I craved, I needed to put the Malfoy family pride in his place, years of teenage angst and anger regarding unfairness of the world in general had found their way out, onto an unsuspecting man of the bourgeoisie breed who probably wanted a quick, forbidden thrill.

“Aren’t you feisty, kitten?” Lucius finally, finally found his words. If he was hoping for threatening or at best - amused, he flunked it. He sounded hornier than a schoolboy.

“This is exactly what I expected when I saw you.” I mocked his earlier words, interpreting the subtle shifts of his hips as my invitation to proceed.

With sloppy finesse, I managed to get his trousers down to his knees while he was hungrily pawing my breasts, twisting my nipples wonderfully with just a dash of lingering pain. Romance novels didn’t do justice to a good fucking - all that lovey-dovey crap with the endless staring into each other’s eyes and slow kisses sounded boring compared to fucking your teacher on his sofa, hard and quick.

But I wouldn’t be myself if I made everything end prematurely, would I? Firm in my decisions, I grabbed him by the mane, again, moving aside the gusset of my panties, letting the tip of his cock feel the moisture of my arousal.

Shudders. His head lolled back on the armrest but his eyes remained open, half-lidded. He was thicker if not longer than the only other man I fucked so I took my time sliding down his length, working up to it, feeling the glorious stretch and give of my pussy around him.

“Fuck.” It was the hottest thing, hearing the perfectly mannered aristocrat swear under his breath like a common sailor. One hand in his hair the other on his shoulder, I braced myself for the ride: starting to grind my hips into his, slowly, enjoying his twitching responding to the fluttering of my walls tightly clenched around him.

To give him justice, his hands didn’t stray from their bruising grip on my ass: Lucius was perfectly content with letting me use his cock the get off - and so I did, picking up my tempo, capturing his lips with my mouth, trading devouring kisses with the man whom I sort of rendered incapable of speech.

“Fuck, you fill me up nicely…” I absentmindedly murmured in-between kisses, becoming increasingly focused on chasing my upcoming peak. I could feel it close, teethering on the edge from the slow drag of his blunt tip against that special spot inside of me, the spot that made me think filth and whisper it in his ear…

It just made his grip stronger, muscles flexing, rippling under me like this beast of a man was trying to hold in the sheer power that flowed through him, was him.

The grind of my hips became a bounce as I abandoned all pretenses, feeling naught but the place where our bodies met as I collapsed on him, knees shaking, mouth slack against his neck from the force of my orgasm.

Lucius moaned under me, deep and low and loud in his throat. The noise should be a sin, it was unbecoming of his usually perfect composure. For a brief moment I entertained the thought of leaving now to always carry the memory of him so dishiveled, so wrecked - hair all over the place, face red and chest dripping with our combined sweat, stomach tainted with the gush of my release.

But I concur. I considered myself to be a polite if not kind person. Withdrawing, I hopped off his dick only to end up in front of him, my knees sinking in the plush carpet beneath me.

Lucius stared down, amused and a tiny bit shocked. His facial expressions will never get old.

It took some courage to hold down his massive wrists by his outer thighs. I gave a tentative lick to the utmost tip of his cock, making his eyes roll to the back of his head. I worked, quickly finding a rhythm to bob my head up and down on his erection, so mindful of my gag reflex and my teeth I barely noticed when the man started shaking, fighting in vain to not thrust up into the wet heat of my mouth.

Gripping his wrists with all my force, so much that the half-moons of my nails were bound to stain his perfect skin with my marks, I wrapped my lips around the head and sucked.

As I predicted, he came with an unholy yowl and a string of curses that made my lady parts consider a second round of this… Affair.

“You sure have a pretty mouth on you, professor Malfoy.” I couldn’t resist the quip as he was coming down from his high. Lucius’ chest was rapidly raising and falling and once he’d cracked open a single eye, I made a show out of wiping the corners of my mouth with a single finger like I’d seen an actress do in a porno; the effect was pleasant, as I expected: a sharp intake of breath, blinking.

I had made up my mind even before we’d gotten in his rooms. It took me a few seconds to wave my wand, clothes arranging themselves perfectly on me. Refreshing my face was another ten seconds. Just as he was about to get up, open his mouth or do something stupid, I turned around, tossing my ruined panties in his general direction.

“See ya ’round, professor.” Judging by the growl, a) my projectile had hit the target & b) the target wasn’t all too pleased with the outcome of the event.

Well, his loss.

Walking down to Ravenclaw tower, I was in that kind of a stupor where up is down and vice versa. The crisp, freezing air of the night hit me and the lust evaporated, giving way to a herd of monkeys screaming in my head which quickly formed into my foster mother’s horrified face. I’d fucked my teacher. Oh, bollocks.

What pushed me to do… The thing?! To be honest, I knew what. My ego and the goddamn curiosity. Who said that only men were proud of their conquests?

There was something so satisfying on that lowly, primal level about seeing Lord Malfoy wrecked with lust, obeying me. I didn’t doubt it for a moment that he’d given himself willingly: let’s be realistic, he could have fucked me ten ways to Sunday without considerable effort.

I had acted on pure instinct, driven by my own need for pleasure, doing things on a whim, too preoccupied to communicate with Lucius about what he wanted out of our little one-time arrangement.

All and all, this clashed with my perception of the archaic, prudent Purebloods and needed more research before I could make a solid conclusion. Science has never been so rewarding.

That night - or should I say morning, Father Severus looked smug and I kept on blushing. We didn’t talk much as I was too exhausted from the party-and the after-party, I simply lounged over his lap like usual, content and warm in the dream embrace.

The slender hand running through my hair was a nice change after my encounter filled with power-play.

I woke up rested, a little sore but happy. I made it in time for lunch, thinking about returning my screwed up sleep schedule back on track - waking up at 7 AM is going to be a nightmare after so many lazy days and I didn’t want to get endless detention for oversleeping.

The sight of Lucius in his usual spot made my heart beat faster, a faint blush spreading on my face, the redness I hoped to attribute to freezing cold hallways I passed on the way to the Great Hall.

“Morning,” I addressed everybody at the table, quickly surveying the available dishes. Duck, yum.

Of course I felt his eyes on me. He was bound to attract questions with that staring of his but I wanted none of that shit. Stubbornly, I made my way through the usual routine of filling my plate, chugging my first cup of coffee and promptly filling it up again. Only then I raised my face.

Severus Snape eyed my coffee habits with mild disdain. Ha! Coffee fueled Science!-dammit, Magic! all over the world and he knew it. Wizards, muggles, goblins - you name it. If there was creation going on, there was coffee involved.

“Miss Wugg, perhaps you would be interested in assisting me in the laboratory today?” Snape finally spoke, earning himself a glare from his blonde friend.

“Sure, professor.” The informal atmosphere of the holidays did wonders on relaxing my vocabulary.

“My classroom, in an hour.” With a curt nod, Snape went back to his lunch, picking at the plate like it was right rotten poison. I frowned at that - the man could use a few more pounds on his bones.

As I made my way to Potions classroom, I wondered why Lucius had decided that ignoring me was the best option. I was relieved, sure, but also didn’t want to underestimate the man - snakes didn’t give up the upper hand that easily. It would be naive of me to hope Lord Malfoy wouldn’t try to get something out of this situation, or at least secure it. If I decided to run my mouth (I wouldn’t), he was looking at a hefty fine and public disgrace.

All-too familiar with the rumors of Snape being a Legilimens, I abandoned my impure thoughts at the door in favor of professional curiosity. He was sorting though a pile of parchment with intensity.

“I appreciate your assistance. Five points to Ravenclaw.” His dry tone matched the sour expression on his face, like it physically pained him to award points to anybody that isn’t a member of his House. “Somebody broke into my laboratory at the beginning of the year, upturning several cauldrons worth of expensive Potions. I suspect one or more of them have been taken for personal use and the mayhem was caused to cover the evidence of the crime.” Professor Snape sounded appropriately furious. “I have fifty-three suspects narrowed down. The break-in was conducted during second period. These persons have their whereabouts unaccounted for during that time.” He stated off, passing me a parchment roll with a list of students. “Your job is to head to the kitchens and speak with the Elder of the House Elves. She should be most helpful in specifying the whereabouts.”

I nodded and promptly left, returning with mostly good news. Two third of the students were spotted by the house elves in various corners of the castle, away from Snape’s precious potions. He took the list with the names crossed off, leaving twelve or so students that the House Elves couldn’t vouch for.

“Are you going to dose them with Veritaserum, professor?” I blurted out, inwardly cursing my traitorous mouth.

“I wish that would be an option.” He deadpanned, frowning at the piece of parchment like it offended him personally. I mean, it kind of did. Nine of the unaccounted students were from his House. I sensed there would be a shit storm once his beloved snakes returned from the holidays.

“May I ask, what potions were… Ruined?” I asked for the sake of conversation.

Professor Snape looked tired and annoyed, if not hurt as he listed a few names I could not recognize. However, a sense of dread came over me as he finished the list. My Potion. The one that bred his dream-persona.

I must have had a look because the next moment, I found him all up in my space, arms crossed. “Is there something you want to tell me?” The insinuating tone, his trademark. Ahh.

I was, plainly speaking, terrified. “I think someone spiked my coffee with the self-discovery one.” I choked out, avoiding his eye.

“What?!” He shouted, pulling his wand and casting several diagnostic charms on me. Satisfied with the results, he sighed, deeply, like he was disappointed in all of humanity and leaned against the desk behind him. “I thought you had more sense than that, Miss Wugg.” He sounded so disappointed, I nearly couldn’t take it.

“At first, it was just… Weird dreams. Weird but nothing out of the ordinary for me. Then I became more aware, started talking.” There was no way I would be telling him the details. Over my dead body. Never. “Truly, I found a lot about myself. It gave me a sense of… Understanding? What I want versus what I actually need.” There, I was speaking the truth. Fucking a grown man and my wet dreams, it was nice and entertaining while it lasted but what I really needed were friends, reliable people whom I wouldn’t push away, a support system. Father Severus was right in the dream, humans are social animals.

Professor Snape hmmed, deep in thought. He didn’t seem disappointed anymore, just kind of… Curious?

“I was working on a modification of the Potion. It wasn’t finished.” He admitted after a moment of deliberating. “Although it seems it has some of the desired effects.” He summoned a black notebook, thin and very plain. “Mayhaps you can describe the experience?”

Of course, he switched to science mode now that it directly concerned one of his experiments. It was a little hurtful, to be viewed as a lab rat.

“I’d rather not share the details. It concerns my personal life.” I refused to humiliate myself.

Professor arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “What kind of secrets does a seventeen year old child can have?” He was challenging me, I knew it.

And I laughed, I couldn’t help. If he only knew. “I’m a foster kid with magic powers. Figure it out.”

His face twisted into anger at my disrespectful remark before something abruptly changed, I couldn’t pinpoint it. Perhaps, pity? I scowled.

“I see.” He said, softer, calmer. “Perhaps you can tell about your experience without any sensitive details?”

“I really haven’t got a clue how can I possibly describe a happenstance that concerns my subconscious without omitting the fine details of my personality but I can try.” I replied after a brief moment of thinking. A plan had formed inside of my head. “But I think I have a better option.”

“I’m listening.” He was intrigued, yet again running his index finger along his lower lip, eyes focused and intense.

“Perhaps, I would be willing to start a… Diary, of sorts. Dating back to the moment I realized I ingested the potion. Once I graduate, you can have it - under oath, of course, I don’t want any… Fine details coming into the wrong hands.” I twirled a stray lock of hair, avoiding his eyes.

Deeply inside, I was mortified, absolutely burning with deep shame. But once I graduate, it’ll undoubtedly become just a gag story for my future friends - “How I Got Spiked With A Potion That Made Me Have Kinky Sex Dreams About The Scariest Teacher In My School” - to drunkenly tell at parties.

Professor Snape was beginning to exhibit… More curiosity than I’d expect. “I can assume there were side effects?” He finally came to his own conclusions.

“I’m not quite sure.” I replied honestly. Was it the potion, did I simply need to get laid or was I Freud’s poster child for parental issues? Good question, prof. “People don’t exactly know how the subconscious works and even if we did, I’m sure there would be a spectrum of what is considered ‘normal’. I suppose, muggle mind healers would say that what I am experiencing is within the norm for my age group and social status.” I purposely worded it vaguely, with a good dose of psychobabble in hopes of preserving my dignity, making my position sound way more classy than it actually was. Prof’s a smart man, he’ll get it… Eventually.

Snape kept somberly nodding throught my speech, must’ve having came to similar conclusions. The human mind, wizard or muggle, was complex in it’s variety.

“I accept your proposition, Miss Wugg.” He finally exhaled the doubt. “I will expect the notebooks on the day before the final exams.” I started to protest but he stopped me with a hand. “Should you go through with your idea, I’ll automatically award you the highest score in Potions. We’ll complete our vows then and I will read them no sooner than you set foot on the train back to London.”

He was feeling quite generous. It surprised me, I won’t lie. I expected a sneer, maybe even a mocking speech but this? He was human, too. A man that understood privacy.

We shook hands in comfortable silence, a faint blue light signifying that Magic itself had heard our deal.

“Professor, do you need help with sorting ingredients?” I was feeling bold. Perhaps it was the tiny connection that we just created, or maybe it was yesterday’s confidence leftovers… I was bored and had nothing better to do. Prof’s company wasn’t a burden to me since I started my individual project and I thought what the hell, might as well make myself useful and kill some time.

There sure was some sorting and conservation for me to do, and once I finished with that, Professor Snape gave me a couple of cauldrons’ worth of potion bases to brew. I had them all memorized since last year and it wasn’t hard for me to multitask, keeping up a comfortable pace, working with my hands, mind blissfully empty.

After some time, a knock interrupted us and one Lucius Malfoy walked in. Seeing me in the corner with the cauldrons his tiny little smirk grew into a full-on leer and I had to keep my head down to convincingly pull off indifference. I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face with my bare hands and my mouth on his cock, that seemed to shut him up fairly well.

Fuck. Focus, Alice.

“What is this, Severus? You exploiting students on holidays, too?” The blonde man gloated his fellow colleague. The way he said the word ‘exploited’ made me think I wouldn’t be opposed to putting him over my knee and spanking his regal arse for shameless cheekiness.

“It is much better to keep the brats occupied with something rather than aimlessly buffooning around the castle, Lucius.” And wow, who knew there could be so much poison in one Severus Snape?

To be fair, I also hated it when some rando interrupted my thought process.

“That it is, Sev.” Amicably agreed Lucius, staring at me. All this eyeballing was getting unnerving and annoying.

“Was there anything you wanted from me, professor Malfoy?” Alright, buckle up soldier, two can play that game. “I’m busy tonight but perhaps I’ll be available to help you tomorrow.” Batting my eyelashes, I obviously overdid the whole innocent schoolgirl look. Neither of the men looked particularly convinced: one was decidedly hungry and the other started into the space between us with suspicion in his features.

“She’s busy. I need a second pair of hands for Lord Slytherin’s… Project.” Snape finally drawled out, looking none to pleased with myself and Lucius both.

Who ever thought that flirting with your professor in front of another professor was a good idea? Obviously not me. Nu-uh.

Malfoy hastily made a retreat looking straight wound up and jealous, letting the door slam shut on his way out. I couldn’t resist rolling my eyes over the childish display of dissatisfaction.

Snape eyed me warily but said nothing.

Everybody was acting weird. Me, Lucius, Snape, Dumbledore- wait, that one came short of a marble straight from the factory. Snape escorted me to dinner, sitting opposite me and pointedly looking at Lucius’ vacant spot next to Professor Gaunt who appeared to be enjoying life to it’s fullest.

No, there weren’t any Cruciatus curses involved, he was merely reading a book, lost to the outside world. I wonder, I’d he’d gotten sorted into my house, maybe he would have become a scientist instead of a mass terrorist? What a pity with all his potential.

Late night in my bedroom, I was sound asleep which meant Father Severus and I were finally enjoying some quality time. We bantered back and forth, discussing Lucius and pureblood wizardfolk and the accuracy of calculations for a new potion.

What started innocent enough, ended with me toying with his long hair and nosing around his neck. Damn those teenage hormones.

That night, we went all the way. I feel like I shouldn’t describe it in detail because - well, because he was me and he knew exactly what I craved, when I craved it. Call it advanced masturbation, perhaps. It was wild and hot and passionate and slow, it was everything I could ever want in a partner with my own limited experience.

I have not a clue what Lucius thought of me but I knew with certainty that he overestimated my womanly wiles. Being seventeen is hard enough without having to keep a grown man on his toes, OK?

Next evening, I was asked to return to Snape’s lab. I hadn’t had a reason to decline, provided it would keep Lucius at a healthy distance from my mousy self.

I and professor Snape worked in tandem, as he had told Malfoy, on some incredibly complicated concoction that I was told not to mention in polite society. What, did the Dark Lord chop his cock off and had to regrow it… Or something..? I wisely decided to keep that thought to myself.

“You’re worth more than you realize.” The words were spoken so quietly, I didn’t realize professor Snape had spoken at all. It took my brain a minute to catch up with the meaning. I was at a complete loss of words. “Lord Malfoy is not the wisest choice of consort.” He finally explained himself, avoiding my eyes.

I finished my chopping and sat down on the stool, holding my head in my hands, confused. “Is that what he thinks it was?” There was no point in denying it, I thought, a little hysterical.

Snape followed suit, placing the mortar and pestle a ways from the cauldron, sitting down. “What was?”

“I had fun. That’s it. I don’t want his money or whatever he thinks is valuable. Been there, done that, I’m done.” I rambled. The traitorous blush creeped up my neck - I was not ashamed of the fact I’d slept with Malfoy, it was the fact that I was discussing my sex life with another teacher. The teacher. I had to stop myself from pinching my arm, thinking I’d fallen asleep in his classroom.

He stared at me… With awe? And so much confusion. Like he couldn’t comprehend my train of thought. Well, maybe he couldn’t, he was a snake, he thought like a snake, searching for opportunities everywhere and anywhere.

“Pray tell, what exactly did you wanted to get out of this?” He finally found his voice. It speaks! Confusion was unbecoming of the Dungeon Bat. I found myself thinking I’d preferred him sulky.

“I didn’t plan it. It just… Sort of happened.” I mustered enough bollocks to answer honestly. “Apparently he liked it or something. I can’t be arsed to deal with his Royal Pain in the Arse and he keeps lurking around for some reason.” That was honestly my best guess. So, a fellow liked to be ordered around now and then. It wasn’t that uncommon! The cussing and overall snark fell from my lips without hindsight.

I am so done.

The drumming in his fingers clearly showed the intensity of his thinking as he slowly worded his reply. “You and Lucius… And then he persists?” Like I just told him there is life on Mars.

I nodded, sadly.

“Miss Wugg, I am… At a loss of words.” He sure seemed like it. I’d never seen, never even imagined professor Snape having a facial expression like that. I’ll give him a point, he wasn’t surprised at Lucius’ behavior which told me the aristocrat had a weakness for seducing women or breaking the rules. Phah, he was a Death Eater (allegedly), of course fucking a teen girl is what he’d do.

“Look. I don’t regret it. Frankly speaking, I haven’t given it a thought after I left the room. If he would kindly leave me alone and pursue his amorous conquests… Elsewhere, I’d be only relieved.” Raising my hands in surrender, speaking the blunt truth.

Professor Snape didn’t lose the stupor as quickly as I’d expect. I mean, this whole muck was out of the ordinary, our conversation was out of the ordinary. I suppose it was within his rights to take a moment to recoup. For me, it’s just that I was lost, as to what to do and what consequences I would have for my little stunt. One time I failed to talk myself out of stupid shit and it immediately went nuclear.

Self-control. I should learn it. Yesterday.

I went back to my preparations. Pretending everything is OK when it’s absolutely not was kind of my superpower. I’m not good at magic, only potions and facades.

I spent the rest of my holiday between brewing with Prof. and catching up on homework. Gaunt, Malfoy and the rest of the castle’s inhabitants faded into background noise, mostly unnoticed and occasionally irritating. Potter tried making friends (I think, he was inviting me to some secret club or something) but I found myself politely refusing his advances. That boy was trouble and my inner voice told me I’ve had enough of that, so I stayed away.

Organizing my sleep schedule was a tedious job, too. I’ve always been sensitive to daily routine changes and professor’s potioneering benders often lasted until well after midnight, so I was focused mostly on not falling asleep whilst I was mixing two cauldrons at once. Who knew that it could be so relaxing?

We never spoke about my thryst with the Lord of the Blings (see what I did there? the man is covered in jewelry) again. I was relieved, I don’t think I could have gotten past the awkwardness - instead, we worked in a companionable silence only broken by requests for the occasional tool or ingredient. I was surprised at how easy it really was. Having expected yelling, sarcasm and a tidal wave of humiliation, the quiet, even peaceful way Professor Snape worked on this particular potion was kind of beautiful.

Without my schoolmates getting on his nerves, the man appeared to shed ten years of age and about a dozen sleepless nights in one go. Sure, he still scowled and sulked, that much hadn’t changed but at least the malicious air surrounding him had evaporated.

After a particularly loud brewing stage, Snape had all of the mad scientist attributes nailed down: tousled hair, soot on his nose, protective glasses askew and fingertips charred and dripping with an unknown substance. “Did the sorting hat have a glitch when it put you in Slytherin instead of Ravenclaw?” I laughed at the surprised expression on his face, having been put on the other side of the room for that little experiment.

His mouth upturned. “Perhaps Albus fed it one too many lemon drops.” The genuine chuckle that followed his joke was kind of adorable.

We both maintained the good mood after he cleaned up and let me apply healing salve to his hands and clean up his dishiveled appearance. Snakes were just so vain.

The clock dinged six o’clock and with that noise, professor Gaunt walked in after a quiet knock. Even then, Snape’s face didn’t lose the upturned expression.

“Merlin’s Beard,” the red-eyed man quietly swore seeing the absolute destruction that befell the newly melted cauldron, the broken desk under it and the gooey, slimy, translucent splatter on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

I giggled some more, putting on an important face. “SCIENCE!.. I mean, MAGIC!” I hastily corrected myself. The first phrase sounded much more badass to my muggle brain and my muggle ears.

The professor fondly (!) rolled his eyes, explaining in great and tedious detail of his experiments with the recipe on the little roll of parchment he didn’t let me see. If that actually was some super-viagra for wizards, I’d lose my marbles, I swear.

My name was mentioned and I look at them, startled, too busy with the clean up to pay attention to their conversation. The slime was a persistent little motherfucker. “Even superheroes need sidekicks!” I gestured to the now definitely less messy room and went back to work, not bothering to find out what either of them had asked. If it was so important, they could repeat themselves.

Thankfully, both wizards continued the conversation without needing my presence.

January was cold. February was cold and wet. March was cold and wet and windy - it was my sixth year of experiencing the joys of spring in Scotland. I’d requested another leave of absence to buy myself some rainproof clothes on the muggle side of the border since I generally found robes to be too long and regularly tangled in them when I got in a hurry somewhere.

My life was blissfully uneventful. I worked with professor Snape few days a week in his lab and fucked Father Severus almost every night in my dreams. Both of those things were good; neither showed signs of stopping any time soon.

We got the sludge to be less explodey. I still had no clue what it did but at least I didn’t have to clean up as often; it also smelled nice, like lemon dish soap and gummy candy. That, however, didn’t last long after I’d told it to Prof: he did something to it and now the room filled up with the smell of a moist swamp every time he lifted the stasis charm. Ew, give back the candy, sad face.

As the end of the year neared, my studies swallowed up the most of my free time. I spent dozens of parchment rolls and broke several quills in my haste to do my assignments on time. McGonagall had finally lost her last marbles and started giving us additional reading of books that were constantly occupied by seventh years preparing for NEWTs.

Dishonor on her, dishonor on her family, dishonor on her cow. I’d given up pestering my schoolmates and ordered a few of the books by owl and wow, that made a dent in my budget. That made me grouchy, being left with half the money for my weekly snack trips to Hogsmeade.

In early May, it was sunny outside.

Warm even, for Scotland, so most of the little humans that occupied the castle went outdoors to sit on the sparse grass in front of the lake. Someone transfigured a beach ball and used it to play back and forth with the Giant Squid: one, sometimes two tentacles emerged from the lake and tossed the ball wherever it came from, missing by a wide margin more often than not. It got the first and second years to laugh and clap in excitement so the teachers turned a blind eye to the silly gimmicks.

My body was screaming for some vitamin D so I let my homework be forgotten for a brief moment, changing into a pair of loose sweats with a matching hoodie, put on my trainers and trotted outside with some leisure reading and a quilt under my arm. The trees by the lake provided enough shade to comfortably recline and read, so I made myself a cozy little nest next to one of the larger willows, it’s soft leaves brushing my face on the slight breeze.

All and all, the tranquility wasn’t meant to last.

A bunch of Slytherins harassing Gryffindors nearby. Loud, annoying but bearable. Nothing out of the ordinary. Us Ravens and Huffs developed a skill of avoiding such altercations with surprising agility.

Then Gaunt and Malfoy, Sr, strolling along the lake, looking like the regal, princely bastards they were. Slytherins doubled down on their abuse, wands were pulled out and minor hexes were traded.

Then Malfoy Jr showed up, then Potter showed up and it all went arse over tit, a flurry of psychedelic colored flashes surrounding the two groups. It was kind of pretty, like fireworks, but also kind of terrifying. One of the Weasleys was spotted running full speed from the castle - I’ve not a clue which one, they’re all identical to me - and it turned into a full brown fistfight.

Finally it attracted the teachers: both Snape and McGonagall all but flew towards the wheezing, bleeding and puking group of kids who most likely already had forgotten what were they even fighting about. Lucius went stoic and stalked after his son, leaving Gaunt to stand next to me.

I was fairly certain we both were vaguely amused and mostly not surprised.

“Do you ever get disappointed in humanity?” I asked the very much rhetorical question out loud, shaking my head. “What a shit show.” My book was certainly more interesting than the scolding and yelling that was coming from the people in the ruckus.

“I certainly do feel that way, Miss Wugg.” Gaunt’s quiet baritone mirrored my internal feelings of distaste for the situation and the world in general.

Honestly, I wanted to tell the wannabe world conqueror that he wasn’t helping to close the divide between the Lions and the Snakes. He was the supervillain stereotype: tall, dark, devilishly handsome, magnetic and utterly cold and cruel. Gryffindor’s own leader was appropriately goofy, overly-empathetic and all-knowing: Albus Dumbledore, the unofficial head of the Light Side was like the ultimate opposite to Lord Gaunt.

And for me, the person who was watching the alleged war from the far sidelines, it seemed almost too clichè to be the reality. My life could have been a cheap paperback novel, a story where I’m the background character for someone else’s adventure, where all the villains are beautiful and seductive and the good guys are less beautiful but more genuine.

What a load of rubbish. Nobody would write a book about me. I’m as uninteresting as they come. Most certainly, nothing compared to the (undoubtedly) life full of grief and loss that the main character has before developing some superpower that stops the villain in his track.

Last I checked, I wasn’t accidentally bitten by a radioactive spider either and my biological parents were humans, not aliens.

I was turning into an angsty teenager alright. I guess the summer break will have to be spent by me in pubs to calm the raging libido of mine. Go me!

I did, in fact, spent most of my summer fucking. To name a perfect excuse, I landed a summer job in London, waitressing away at a moderately-sized diner with a moderate paycheck and a whole lot of tips, provided I wore low cut tops and short shorts. A girl’s gotta live.

Leering men weren’t the smartest folk so I shamelessly scammed them out of their hard-earned cash attracting stink-eyes from the resident colleagues and female patrons alike; sorry haters, too busy getting paid to notice your hissy fits.

My foster parents had started talk of fostering another kid now that I was set to age out of the system and be given my own place to live in autumn in my birthday. I supported their choice with all my heart, urging them to start the process before I leave for good. No empty nest for them. I didn’t want them to be heartbroken and promised to stay in touch no matter what. That said, they were aware and relieved I had chosen to pursue a life amongst the miggles. Wizarding World was far too confusing for them and to be honest, they kind of hated it for taking their child away.

I wondered, how many parents of muggleborns harboured distaste, hurt or downright hate at the situation? Raising a child, their own flesh and blood, for eleven years until they get whisked away to some place the parent’s can’t even see, much less talk about with their friends and relatives.

A plan started slowly forming inside of my head.

On my final days of summer break, I went along with my parents to a social services center where kids awaited their placement. A quick Confundus charm ensured me access to the seven children and I carefully tested them for Magical abilities - one was a wizard, two were possibly squibs and the remaining four were plain, ordinary muggle children from a bad social environment.

Quickly relaying the information to my foster parents, and tweaking the Confundus on the social worker, my foster parents became the guardian of a shy, adorable blonde little girl.

I didn’t ask for details. She looked scared and lonely and so positively doll-like, I could see her perfectly fitting into the family pictures. My foster dad was a sunny blonde, too.

I departed for Hogwarts after throwing out or giving to charity almost all my possessions - my old room now became Susie’s room and I shamelessly enjoyed waving my wand when I redecorated it in the patterns of Disney princesses, my parents standing there awed, dad joking he was going to save a fortune on house renovations.

The goodbye was bittersweet. I knew we’d stay in touch but with my last year of Hogwarts ahead, I still felt… Lost. My nightly conversations with Father Severus strayed away from the naughty, becoming filled with genuine self-examination and questions, so many questions. I thought that people sort of found out all of the things when they became adults.

Not dumb crap like how to get health insurance, but deeper things, like how can I be sure I’ll like my career of choice? Will I ever find somebody I want to listen to?

I didn’t know all that even though I searched for the answers, I found nothing. Tomorrow was as iffy of a thing as it was when I was eight years old, twelve or fifteen. What actually matters on the large scale of things? Are we really alone out there?..


End file.
